


1000 Days

by zarabithia



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Pining, Red Kryptonite, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 58,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11301744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: Dick Grayson realizes that he is in love with Superman when he is 15. The course of true love never did run smooth, so he has to suffer through red kryptonite, sex pollen, and scarecrow toxin... And the sad truth that Bruce is also in love with Clark.





	1. Barn of fornification

"Superman and blowjobs just don't go together," Roy had commented to Dick once. It had, in fact, been just last week when the Titans had been on a round of "I know you're not gay, but who would you switch teams for?"

It had been difficult for Dick to be enthused about that particular game, because wow, did it ever hit just a little too close to home. Also it made the fact that some of his friends weren't as open to alternative lifestyles as they could be a little too obvious for him to ignore. They were superheroes-in-training. Couldn't they act . . . well, more super?

But his irritation aside, Dick had listened dutifully as the others answered, and when it came his time, he purposely paused - as if he had to think about it - picked away the mushrooms from his pizza, and slowly twirled an abandoned piece of crust between his fingers in an attempt to look contemplative. It was a good disguise, as it hid the fact that there was really one answer that immediately came to mind.

"Superman," he'd said. And, oh, he'd been so * proud * of how nonchalant that had sounded.  


But then they'd laughed. Every. Single. One. Of . Them. Some friends they were.

Dick had flushed several shades of red then, giving his best "Batman glare," had responded, "Well, you asked."

"Yeah, but * Superman *?" Garth had asked skeptically. "He's as straight as one of Speedy's arrows."

"I don't know. There are an awful lot of rumors abut Supes with Bats," Wally had said.  _Evil, evil,_ Wally. Bruce and Clark? Oh, no, no, no!

"That's stupid," Roy had argued. Good, faithful Roy. "Batman hates Superman." Well, that wasn't exactly true, but. . .

"That's not what Diana says," Donna had chipped in. "She says Batman only acts like he hates Superman to hide his affection."

Between bites of mushrooms pilfered from Dick's plate, Wally mumbled, "Yeah, and besides, what kind of person hates * _Superman_ *?"

"Batman," Garth had answered. And really, Dick had decided he loved Garth very much in that moment. Because Bruce * did * hate Clark. Otherwise. . . well, * that * had been too awful to contemplate, so Dick hadn't.

At which point, Roy had rolled his eyes and made the observation. "Who cares about Batman? * Superman * can't have a sex life at all, and certainly not a gay one, because that would involve blowjobs. And Superman and blowjobs just don't go together."

Though Dick hadn't said anything at the time, he had privately agreed. Not that Dick had lacked for Superman fantasies. The mere thought of those muscles straining against the fabric of his costume was enough to make Dick hard and the mere sound of Superman's voice in his ear as they'd flown was jerk off fodder for * weeks.* Dick could very easily imagine the same large hands that wrapped so firmly around his waist in flight moving south and wrapping around his cock.

But, sadly, Dick could never settle on a realistic blowjob fantasy. Because as unfair as it was, Speedy was right. Superman and blowjobs just *didn't * go together.

The revelation at Titan's Tower hadn't stopped him from agreeing to accompanying Superman to Smallville. Amazing, Bruce hadn't objected to his going. Even more amazingly, Bruce hadn't objected to his staying an extra day after Toyman's plans to find any remaining Krytonite - where better to look than The Meteor Capitol of The World?- had been thwarted.

"It's your time to waste, Robin," came the snippy reply from Bruce, who had been too busy with another case to help. Because Bruce so * did * really hate Superman.

But, oh, Bruce had never been more wrong. Neither the trip nor staying an extra day had been a waste of time. Because Superman and blowjobs might not go together, but Dick was discovering that Clark Kent and blowjobs went together fantastically. Or, rather, his imagination was discovering this fact.

It was ridiculous distinction to make. But his mind wasn't seeing any use in such logic, and neither, quite frankly were his hormones.

But, no, on the other hand, it made perfect sense. * Superman * couldn't get dirty. No matter how many battles he'd fought or villains he'd faced, Superman's hair always remained perfectly in place, his suit perfectly in tact with his cape still flying proudly behind him. It proved an interesting contrast to Dick's own suit, which frequently tore, needed washing, and in general, got messy.

But Superman * never * got messy, and Dick couldn't begin to imagine how Superman would look between his legs, his hair tousled from Dick's hands holding on to dear life. That damnable suit that * wouldn't move * so all Dick's frustrated legs would feel would be that smooth, cold spandex. And in the end, when Dick's impatience, inexperience, and hormones got the better of him, and he came entirely too quickly without any finesse *at all, * his cum would leak onto * that * costume.

No, no. That hadn't been right at all. But the man standing three feet away from him was a * farm boy. * Clark therefore not only knew, but * embraced * dirtyness. As proof, Clark was currently squatting a foot away from a pile of cow crap, a calming hand on the cow's side while milking the cow with the other. And yes, that sight was going to be filling his fantasies for a good *long * time. The oversized blue flannel shirt sleeves were rolled up, while the shirt tails were partially untucked. And Clark's ass was completely * made * to be covered in jeans. He should probably wear them into battle. The villains would all stop to stare appreciatively - how could they *not? *- and Superman could just knock them unconscious before they ever jerked out of their Superass induced fantasies.

Unlike Superman, Clark Kent * had * a sex life. Dick could easily imagine * that * body between his legs. Clark's hair would be ruffled, his lips still sullied with Dick's cum. The top of his very bare chest would bear dried evidence of Dick's enthusiasm. That ill-fitting shirt practically * begged * to be removed. From his vantage point here in the Kents' barn, Dick could imagine how those exposed forearm muscles would give way to equally sculpted shoulders. He'd never really had a very vivid picture of what Superman would look like naked - not that he hadn't tried, but *that suit * always got in the way. But Clark's now upright form was helping ease that problem.

It was causing another sort of problem, entirely, however. It didn't make any sense that his short pants would hide a hard on better than his jeans, but they did. Speaking of strange truths, Dick tried not to think what it said about his mental health if a pile of cow crap could * improve * his sexual fantasies, but it did. . .

Because * Superman * never fumbled and therefore could never understand Dick's hesitation when it was Dick's turn to taste * him.*

Unlike the fantasies with Superman sucking him off, the fantasies with Superman in Dick's mouth had gone fairly far, because Dick was fairly certain of two things. One, Superman would taste like liquid summertime. Two, Superman, whom Bruce had referred to more than once as too touchy-feely, would so very much let Dick know when he'd satisfied the older man. Dick could practically hear Superman crying out with satisfaction. There'd be no guessing, no trying to read Superman's mind - just the knowledge that Dick had done a good job and that he'd pleased his partner.

But the realist in him knew that there'd be a lot of fumbling before they got to that point, and frankly, Dick couldn't imagine fumbling around like an inexperienced little kid in front of someone as flawless as Superman.

But Clark - the one who was giving him a self conscious smile while trying to clean cow poop off his work boots - * could * understand. Clark would use those same hands that gently milked the cow, and Clark would use the same Superman whisper that they'd used during flight to guide Dick's virgin mouth to all the right places. Even amid the stale smell of hay, cow excrement, and dirt, Dick could all but taste the combination of lemonade, sunflower seeds, and hand-scooped strawberry ice cream that Dick was sure composed the flavor of Clark's cum.

"Dick? I'm going to take this milk to Ma."

"Um. . . okay."

"Then, if you're done shucking the corn, I thought we could take Katie and Hazel out for a ride."

Right, he was going to go riding with Superman. . . * the corn! * Dick gave a rueful glance at the sadly neglected pile and nodded. "That'd be great, Clark."

He was rewarded with one of Superman's face splitting smiles. Dick was pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life looking at that smile. "I think that's the first time you've actually said my name. I'm glad you finally comfortable enough to do so."

Oh, Dick was comfortable enough, all right. In fact, so comfortable that when Clark turned and walked back towards the house and Dick resumed the long neglected pile of corn, the very act of peeling back the silky corn shucks made his over-aroused mind think of sex. Specifically, it made him contemplate the very real possibility that Clark hadn't been circumcised. Oddly, the thought had never popped into his head before. And really, * corn * was probably a weird catalyst. But no odder, Dick supposed, than any other impetus he'd managed to find in the Kents' barn.

Dick wiggled uncomfortably in his jeans. Stupid hormones. But Alfred * did * say it happened to everybody. Which meant, of course, that at some point even Superman - Clark - had been in the same shoes. Dick paused in his work once again to give the barn a quick appreciative glance. He wondered what type of fantasies a teenage Clark Kent had jerked off to, and if there had ever been a very hot, very powerful, very desirable older man just out of Clark's reach.

Probably not. But Dick decided that it was entirely plausible that the lofts would have given Clark's tall, muscular frame plenty of room to work out any frustration he might have had. The idea that he was standing just feet away from the spot where Superman had once upon a time jerked off was a very pleasant one. So pleasant, in fact that Dick's smile was still plastered on his face when Clark came back out to the barn.

Clark had taken his time in the house, and Dick was able to finish shucking the corn while Clark saddled the horses. When the pile was finished, Dick set it aside for Jonathan Kent to retrieve, wondering idly how many bugs would crawl into the bucket before the farmer came to get it.

"Have you ever ridden before?" Clark asked.

A little voice smirked at the question inside Dick's head, but aloud he responded like the adult Clark treated him as instead of the horny little boy he was. "A couple times, back in the circus."

"Well, these aren't show horses. They're a bit more spirited. It's nothing you can't handle, but I think it'll be safer if you take Hazel."

Dick nodded. Hazel was smaller, and didn't seem as eager to bite Clark's hands off.

"Um, Dick, I don't mean to pry, but. . . is everything okay?"

The smile melted off Dick's face. "Um, sure. Why do you ask?"

Clark shrugged. "You've been a little distracted all day, and strangely quiet. *Bruce * quiet."

"I just have a lot on my mind."

"Anything you want to discuss?"  
  
Yes. Because in his fantasies, this is how these encounters always began, with Dick confessing both his sexuality and his attraction. True, the conversation in his fantasies usually took place in the Fortress of Solitude, but the Barn of Fornification would do.

But then again, no. Because as much as he wanted this, Dick * knew * that Superman wouldn't. Even if he did * want * to, he *couldn't * return it. There was simply no way the Big Blue Boy Scout would ever have sex with an underage teenage boy in his parents' barn.

"Dick?"

"Nah. Nothing's wrong, really. Life's just. . . complicated."

Clark threw him a sympathetic smile before mounting his horse. "I know the feeling."

Dick followed suit and realized Clark hadn't been kidding about Hazel being "spirited." If Dick hadn't been a trained acrobat, he would have been tossed clear across the barn. "And here I thought it was going to get better at some point."

Clark laughed, a deep, rumbling sound which tickled the inside of Dick's stomach. "Sorry, but no."

"Well, I'll just have to get over it."

Clark turned to look at him from his saddle, his strong hands urging Katie to stand still. "You know, Dick, I consider you one of my dearest friends. I enjoy your company, and I don't like the idea of you hurting. If there's ever anything you do want to talk about, I hope you know you can always come to me."

And Bruce had called this day a waste of time!

"I know, Clark, and thank you for inviting me. I mean, even after the mission with Toyman."

"It's been my pleasure."

Oh, no. There was no way Clark had gotten as much pleasure from this as Dick had. To prove the point, Dick allowed Hazel to trot out several paces behind Clark and Katie. The magnificient grace with which Clark rode in his saddle not only made Dick's jeans even tighter, it also reminded him that there was far more to a fantasy sex life than blowjobs.

And no, Superman and * that * probably didn't go together either. But Dick was pretty certain that Clark Kent could.  
\-----


	2. Christmas of Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Dick’s having a blue Christmas. Clark flies by to fix that.

No one particularly likes finding out that they’re a horrible person.When the realization came to Dick less than two weeks before Christmas, it was doubly unwelcome.To make matters worse, the irrationally irritating Vicki Vale had descended upon the Manor, spreading her own special brand of high-pitched annoying way-too-heterosexual laughter as easily as a winter time flu, and at least to Dick, as equally unwelcome. 

 

Bruce, on the other hand, apparently didn’t share the same contempt.The sound of Bruce’s voice floated through the walls as easily as Vicki’s laughter.Sourly, Dick entertained the belief that Bruce should really find the man who had sold his family the material that had gone into these walls and demand his money back.Maybe he should even don the cowl, for good measure.The Manor walls were supposed to be made of the thickest, best materials available.If Dick had been in any mood to laugh, he could easily have soiled a couple pair of short pants over _that._

__

As another shrill bark of laughter reached his ears and played “Jingle Bells” across Dick’s spine, he was forced to acknowledge that Vicki possessed what was quite possibly _the_ most annoying laugh in the history of all the women Bruce had ever “dated.”Begrudgingly, Dick did have to admit that was impressive.Astounding feats aside, Dick had never prayed so fervently for the Bat Signal as he was tonight.Guiltily, he realized that a _lack_ of a Bat Signal was actually a good thing. It was a sign that at least for one night, Gotham was masquerading as a _real_ city – the kind without homicidal clowns, killer crocodiles, or villains named after Wizard of Oz characters.He _really_ should be enjoying the moment, because given another week, Gotham would be celebrating the holidays in full holiday crime spree fashion that accompanied every Christmas spent in this city.So no, he didn’t really want any crimes to actually happen, but. . . if they _had_ to happen, Dick would have welcomed the release brought by chasing, confining, and apprehending a criminal.It surely would have taken his mind off the fact that he _was_ a horrible person, a truism made all the more obvious by wishing for the Bat Signal to rescue him from his own problems.

 

His salvation came not in the form of the Bat Signal, but in a knock at his window.

 

The person on the other side of the window almost always had the ability to make Dick’s life _better_ by merely appearing in it. Dick suspected he wasn’t the only one who felt that way; Clark was called _Superman_ for a reason.Tonight, however, the same feelings of warmth, reassurance, and compassion that rolled off Superman served only to amplify Dick’s feelings of self-doubt and unworthy. The man floating outside his window was a living example of the best a person could be.The mere notion of sharing _what he had done_ with Superman made Dick physically shrink away form the window. He wanted nothing more than to run and hide as far away from all that . . . _good._

__

But it was _Clark_ _,_ so Dick was left with little choice other than to lift the window and let the man in.

 

“Hello, Dick,” Superman greeted, full of the niceness to which Dick wasn’t entitled.

 

“Hey. Does Bruce know you’re here?Because he’s . . .um, kind of busy.”

 

Superman titled his head, and right on cue, the sound of Bruce’s name penetrated the walls of Dick’s room with such ease that no one needed Super hearing to catch it. An odd expression that Dick couldn’t quite read flitted briefly across the older man’s face. Then Superman did something Dick had never witnessed him do before – he rolled his eyes. 

 

“Well, it seems Bruce is taking a vacation.What do you say we do the same?”

 

“A vacation?”

 

“I am three weeks behind in putting up Christmas decorations at the farm. I could use an acrobat’s help to put them up.”

 

Oh, hell.The very last place on Earth Dick wanted to go was _Smallville._ It was home to the good, virtuous, and kind people, of the sort that had molded Clark Kent into Superman in the first place.All of that. . . would be just a little bit more than Dick could bear.“Superman, you can fly, and you have super speed.You don’t actually need anyone’s help.” 

 

“True,”Superman conceded.“But Christmas was never intended to be celebrated in isolation.I believe that goes for decorating rituals, as well.”

 

“Bruce-“

 

“Has already granted consent.We spoke earlier.”

 

Well, of course.“Okay.”

 

Superman smiled, and Dick knew it wasn’t _supposed_ to hurt.But it cut Dick to the very core.Superman might have noticed this, because the smile quickly left his face.Further, he clung Dick a little closer to that magnificent body than he ever had previously when they lifted up in flight. 

 

It was a testament to Dick’s mood that the closeness of the body he had spent so many hours lusting after brought him absolutely no joy tonight. For that matter, Superman had just been in his bedroom.The very stuff from which fabulous fantasies were made, and Dick couldn’t’ be bothered to really notice.If anything, the proximity to Superman and the instinctive lust that itched below Dick’s fingertips only served to make Dick feel worse. Not even flying – the one super power Dick _craved –_ was any consolation.

 

Dick simply closed his eyes and waited as Superman flew them closer to Smallville. The wind was icy, wet, and it stung like a slap across the face. 

 

Dick found it entirely appropriate.

 

\------

 

He knew the moment their bodies entered Kansas.The wind increased and Dick became increasingly aware of a smell unlike any Dick had ever known in Gotham or any other city Dick could remember visiting. Despite being a barren, snow-covered winter wonderland, Kansas still managed to smell like wheat, corn, and animals – all living, breathing things. It was an appropriate contrast to Gotham, which always managed to smell like oil, cold metal, and bullets – all dead things. In spite of his mood and remorse at his current actions, Dick allowed himself to cling a little more tightly to Superman.As the Kent farm came into view, Dick allowed himself to be grateful that he knew someone willing to pull him out of Gotham occasionally, as much as he might love the city.

 

Superman descended and landed on the front porch. IT took Dick a moment to gain his footing again, and by the time he had, Superman had reappeared beside him, dressed in the familiar flannel that he had worn last summer.In his arms were two boxes of Christmas decorations.

 

“There’s more in the barn,”Clark told him, because it _was_ Clark now. Superman didn’t wear plaid.“But I thought this would be enough to get us started. Do you want to take the house or the barn?”

 

“You decorate the barn?”

 

“Not all of it- just the side you can see from the road.”

 

“Um, I’ll take the barn, I guess. How do you want it decorated?”Because Dick really had no idea how to decorate a barn, or a farmhouse for that matter.But he figured the Kents would be less upset if he screwed up their barn than if he messed up their house.

 

“Anyway you want,” Clark replied, as thought it was that simple.“When you’re done with that box, we’ll move on to the ones in the barn.”

 

Somewhat warily, Dick took the box from Clark and then made his way over to the barn where his overactive imagination had taken such delight in Clark-gazing over the summer.But that train of thought only led him back to the enormity of his horribleness, so Dick shook off the thought and began to dig through the box of decorations.

 

It figured that the Kents would choose the larger bulbs that looked like they belonged in the Fifties over the small ones. It also figured that Superman’s parents would choose the multi-colored lights over the solid yellow lights that Alfred had picked for the Manor’s tree.In fact, Alfred did _all_ the decorating for the Manor, so in all honesty, Dick simply should have said no when Clark asked him to do this. He was clearly going to mess it up, and it was important not to disappoint the people depending on him.

 

But. . . the circus had put on special shows at Christmas time and Dick remembered the care and enthusiasm with which he and his mother had decorated the tents, cages, and ladders.

 

Dick swallowed back a sob and squinted determinedly at the barn.A barn could _kind of_ resemble a circus tent. . .

 

\-------------------------

 

Forty-five minutes and several revisions later, Dick had finished hanging and arranging the lights. When he was certain that they didn’t pose a fire hazard, that they didn’t impede opening and shutting of the barn doors, and most importantly, that it _didn’t_ look like it had been hastily thrown together by a six year old, Dick climbed down.

 

Clark was waiting for him with two mugs in hand, one of which he handed to Dick.“You did a lovely job, Dick,”he praised, and the part of Dick that knew was a horrible person felt even worse. “Ma will love it.”

 

“Mine would have too,”he murmured before taking a sip of his cocoa. Clark apparently had a marshmallow obsession, and as obsessions go, it was a nice one.Even if it did make not allowing any of the marshmallows to tumble out onto the barn floor particularly difficult.The task grew in difficultyas Dick followed Clark up a small ladder to the barn loft.

 

Clark sat down on a large chest and motioned for Dick to sit beside him. He waited until Dick had sat down to speak.“You must really miss them this time of year.” 

 

“I do,”he answered quietly. “Their favorite time of year was always Christmas.It’s not the same holiday without them.”He doesn’t say _‘It’s not as cheerful,’_ or ‘ _I wish Bruce would allow himself to laugh just one day out of the year.’_ But he did think it. 

 

“I think of my birth parents a lot at Christmas too,”Clark said, his voice as gentle as the grip he was using to hold his cup in those large hands, just in case Dick would break as easily.“Even though I know they didn’t celebrate Christmas on Krypton.I still regret not being able to share the holiday with them.”

 

Dick shrank a little more under the weight of Clark’s confession. It was official. He, Dick Grayson, was the most selfish man on the entire planet.Here he’d been complaining about the loss of his parents when Superman hadn’t even _known_ his. 

 

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”Clark asked, altering his voice so that it served as the transition their conversation lacked. 

 

Dick thought about lying and saying nothing else was wrong.He didn’t like lying, and hated lying to Clark even more, but there simply wasn’t any way Clark could understand. . . on the other hand, he had done enough bad lately that he probably didn’t need to add lying to Superman to the list. 

 

“We’re having a dance at school next week,” he confessed slowly.“It’s a pretty big deal. . . and do you know who Willa Cather is?”

 

Clarks’ eyebrows crinkled slightly at Dick’s rambling train of thought, but he nodded, and Dick mentally kicked himself.The man was a writer. Of course he knew who Willa Cather was!

 

“Well, um. . . you know she was a lesbian, right?”

 

“I believe I’ve heard something to that effect, yes.”

 

“Well, we were in English and one of the people in my class, Eric, is gay.Um. .. he’s pretty open about it.He gets a lot of grief from the other people in my school.”

 

“I bet he does.”

 

Dick felt like an idiot, because none of this was coming out right.But when he snuck a glance over at Clark, he saw that the other man had pulled his legs up to his chin.With his arms wrapped around his knees, Clark had his gaze firmly fixated on Dick.It was the kind of look that made you feel like there wasn’t anyone else in the world that mattered.It made a person feel special.Dick rather enjoyed feeling special, even if he _didn’t_ deserve it. 

 

“Anyway, we were discussing Willa and the teacher asked for general comments.Eric made a comment and some of the guys towards the back said some things. . . about how only someone like Eric would comment on this crap,”Dick was paraphrasing, of course, because most of their comments he would never, ever repeat, and especially not to Superman. 

 

“Didn’t your teacher intervene?”

 

“No.Apparently, she couldn’t hear them.”The look that briefly crossed Clark’s face let Dick now that Clark understood how much bullshit _that_ was.“I got a little upset, so I raised my hand and commented too.” 

 

“It was good of you to intercede on Eric’s behalf.”

 

And just like that, Eric was a well known and beloved friend of Superman. It was completely characteristic of the man, and made the rest of the story even more difficult for Dick to tell. 

 

“Yeah.Anyway. . . after school, Eric asked me to the Winter Formal. I – I turned him down.”

 

“That’s what’s been bothering you?Dick, there’s no shame in not being attracted to someone.”

 

“But I was – _am –_ attracted to him.”There wasn’t any reason not to be.He was funny, smart and _cute._ Granted, he wasn’t Superman, but who was?

 

“If you are attracted to him,”Clark said, full of the acceptance Dick had _known_ he would have, “Then why did you turn him down?”

 

Because he was a horrible person.But apparently, Superman wasn’t getting that.“I didn’t want to be seen with him.I’m not . . . I know what Eric has to go through. . . I didn’t want to have to deal with that.”

 

“And _that’s_ what’s bothering you?The reason you rejected him?” Clark clarified gently.The very way Clark asked it made Dick think that maybe, just maybe, he _wasn’t_ such a horrible person after all.

 

But. . . “He said I was shallow, and phony.And he was right.”

 

Clark’s hand hovered a moment before it came to rest firmly on Dick’s shoulder.It was a bit more forceful than Dick was accustomed to from Clark’s touches.It didn’t _hurt,_ but was a gentle reminder of how much strength Clark possessed.It was as though Clark was loaning him some, since he so very plainly didn’t have any of his own.“Dick, just because you aren’t ready to proclaim to the world your sexual preferences, that doesn’t make you shallow or phony.”

 

“But it doesn’t exactly make me truthful either, does it?”

 

“Well, I suppose not and I hope that in the future you’ll feel comfortable enough with your choices that you’ll be able to show your affection to whomever you feel attraction for.But high school is difficult enough without the added pressure of being different.I’m sure you just need some time to –"

 

Dick’s frustration enabled him to do something he had never done before. He interrupted Superman.“But I deal with difficult every night in Gotham.”

 

“Dick, that’s really not the same thing.”

 

“It _should_ be.”

 

Superman’s hand didn’t move, but his body shifted.The chest beneath them groaned under the weight and Clark altered his gaze so that he wasn’t looking at Dick anymore. Instead, he stared forlornly off into the opposite corner of the loft.

 

“I was six years old when I fell in love with the girl next door,”Clark said wistfully.“I had our whole life planned out by the time we were twelve.I was 15 by the time I fell in love with the _man_ next door.” 

 

“That must have sucked for your plans,”Dick acknowledged.

 

“Yes, it did.So much so that I was 20 by the time I figured it out that I was in love with him.It was too late by then. . . he’d moved on.”

 

“I’m sorry,”Dick apologized automatically.

 

“So am I.I think about that man a lot, and sometimes I wonder how different my life might have turned out if I had been ready at 15 instead of 20.” 

 

“Do you wish you _had_ been?”

 

Clark took a long time to respond, and Dick felt badly for asking in the first place.But when Clark finally answered, he turned back to look at Dick.Just like that, Dick was again the only person that mattered in the whole universe.He was _special_ again, and he was pretty sure that Clark didn’t mind.“Sometimes I regret, yes.But I know that the man I fell in love with at 15 would understand that I needed time to figure things out and if your Eric is anything to mourn, he would too.” 

 

“I’m not in _love_ with him, or anything,”Dick corrected, because it seemed important that the man who had the power to _actually_ make his heart sing know the difference.“I just felt badly for –"

 

“Needing more time isn’t something you should feel badly for.It’s something you’re entitled too. It’s also something you shouldn’t rush.” 

 

“It’s all very complicated,”Dick complained. He was being whiny, yes.But he couldn’t be whiny with Bruce, because he wasBatman; he couldn’t be whiny with the Titans, because he was supposed to be their leader; he couldn’t be whiny with Alfred because he’d probably tell Bruce.Sometimes it was nice to be whiny. 

 

“Yes, it is.If it’s any consolation, there are places in the universe where things aren’t so complicated. Krypton was one of them.”

 

He felt badly about prying into the history of Superman’s destroyed home world, but he had to ask, “How do you know?”

 

“My birth parents sent with me photographic, documentary, and video evidence of all facets of Krypton’s society, including their sexual practices.”

 

Yeah, he lived with Batman, but _that_ took a minute to process.When it did, to his utter horror, his brain heard his mouth exclaim, “They sent Kryptonian porn?”

 

Clark smiled and stood up.“I wouldn’t quite call it that, but technically, yes.”

 

“Mm.I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share, in the spirit of healing my crisis.”

 

Clark was heading down the stairs now.“Somehow,I think your crisis is well on its’ way to healing by itself.And since I’d like to continue to live, I think showing Batman’s _underage_ ward Kryptonian porn might have to wait another 812 days.”

 

“812 days?”Dick asked dumbly.“Oh, my birthday. You know when my birthday is?”

 

“Don’t I bring you presents?”Clark asked, handing him what appeared to be a fake reindeer out of a box Dick hadn’t seen when they’d come in.

 

He really _was_ feeling better because his mind was able to go to a very perverted place, given the topic of the conversation combined with the word “presents.”Sure, Clark didn’t mean it like that, but still.

 

“Thank you,”Dick said sincerely.Everything wasn’t perfect, and he still had a lot of questions, but he did feel a little less heinous, and even a tiny bit hopeful for what the future might bring.

 

“You’re welcome,”Clark smiled at him again, and Dick felt his hopes lift a little higher.

 

Later, when he was snuggled warmly under his own blankets, Dick remembered that Clark had been standing less than a foot away from his bed earlier in the evening. He also remembered that Clark knew _exactly_ how many days away his 18th birthday was.Both facts were the stuff from which _excellent_ fantasies were made.He was also _fairly_ certain that Clark had promised to share his collection of Kryptonian porn with him in the future. 

 

As he drifted off to sleep, he was pretty sure that the Christmas season couldn’t have gotten off to a better start.

  


\-------------------- 


	3. Lupercalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick really wants Bruce to be straight.  Because how could a non-straight man reject Clark?

Bruce was straight.  There were many things Dick was unsure of, and at least sixty percent of those things were Bruce-related, but of this one thing, Dick was certain.  

Bruce was straight. How else did one explain Selina, Vicki, Zatanna, Black Canary, Rachel, or any of the other numerous women that came and went from the manor with stunning frequency?  Besides, Bruce had to be straight, because the minute he stopped being one hundred percent straight, Wally’s flippant joke about Clark and Bruce became possible. 

//“I don't know. There are an awful lot of rumors abut Supes with Bats.” //

But a straight man wouldn’t be touching Oliver Queen like that, would he? No, Dick decided. Fondling another man’s ass definitely transcended acceptable straight men behavior.  

They were probably just doing it for attention, Dick reasoned.  After all, both enjoyed being in the tabloids- for different reasons, no doubt - and how better to gain attention than to fondle one another at the annual Wayne Valentine Day’s Party?  

With a shrug, Dick excused himself from the overly pink ballroom and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.  He was glad that Bruce insisted on caterers for the party so that Alfred could rest.  He’d much rather talk to Alfred than hang out in a room where the label “rich young ward of Billionaire Bruce Wayne” clung more tightly than Robin’s mask.

Alfred was steadily chopping onions when Dick walked in the room.  “Hey, Al. Need some help?”

“I have the onions quite under control, Master Richard,” Alfred responded.  “However, you are quite welcome to dice the jalapenos, if you wish.”  

“Okay -hey, are you making chili?”   There was no chili in the world like Alfred’s, of that Dick was positive.  

“Yes. Someone once informed me that my chili wasn’t any good unless it had been prepared the night before, and I do endeavor to make certain all the dishes I set before you and Master Bruce are edible.”

Dick flushed as he recognized his own words being thrown back at him. “Everything you make is great, Alfred,” he assured the older man. “But the chili just tastes better after it’s been warmed up.”

“Thus the need to prepare it the night before,” Alfred conceded. “I quite understand.  Is there a reason you left the party?”

“Oh. . . it just wasn’t my style.”  

“I see.  Please make sure the jalapenos are cut into quarters, Master Richard.”

“Oh, sorry.  How’s this?”  Dick asked, holding a piece up for inspection.

“That will do nicely.”

They chopped in amicable silence for a while.  When Dick finished the jalapenos, he moved on to the sweet peppers. It was nice to be able to sit in the kitchen with Alfred, because it was one of the few times in which Dick could just let his mind wander. The only other time he could do so was at night in the solitude of his bedroom.  

But tonight, his thoughts were not overly pleasant ones. His mind kept replaying that scene in the ballroom. Stupid Oliver Queen. Speedy was still in rehab, so shouldn’t the man have been doing something important tonight, like staying home and feeling guilty that he’d been an utter failure as a mentor?  Yeah, that was a great plan. Stupid, stupid Oliver Queen.

Actually. . . Stupid Bruce, too.  Bruce had known Clark for years longer than Dick had. If Bruce was. . . not entirely straight, then of all the men in the world, why would he pick someone like Oliver Queen over Superman?  

Or worse. . . what if he hadn’t?

“Is there something troubling you, Master Dick?”

Dick smiled despite his mood. Alfred only used the shortened version of his name when he was trying to purposely get Dick to open up.

“I just. . .”  Dick trailed off, wondering just how to broach the subject with Alfred. He’d have to use analogies, of course, because the situation was too enormous to dump in Alfred’s lap like that.  “Okay.  Let’s say you have this friend. . . who you make chili with. Yeah, like the cook-offs they have on the Food Network.”

“Begging your pardon, Master Dick, but what is a ‘cook-off’?”  

Dick sighed.  The whole world was clearly against him tonight, even Alfred. “It’s like the play-offs for food, Al.  To see who makes better chili.”

“I see,” Alfred stated in that little clipped tone that implied that he did not.  “Who will be judging this cook-off?”  

“I will.”

“Very well. I hope our chili will be allowed to sit over night in that case.  Please continue, Master Dick.”

“Okay. . . so you and this guy are in this cook-off.  And it’s a guy you’ve known for a long time -“

“Master Bruce, perhaps?”

“What? NO!”

“Why not?”

“Because Bruce just isn’t allowed to make chili.”

“Please move on to the red peppers, if you are finished.”

Dick handed Alfred the bowl containing the green sweet peppers before commencing with the red ones.

“Perhaps my good friend Rupert, then?”

“Yeah, Al. Rupert will do just fine.  Anyway - do you want to keep the seeds from these?”  

“Yes. Put them in a separate pile.”

“Okay. So all the time you’ve known Rupert you’ve seen him make chili using. . .Parmesan cheese as the special ingredient. But then one day you . . . smell corn coming from Rupert’s pot.” It was a great analogy in Dick’s estimation.  There was a lot of corn in Kansas.  

“Is there any reason that he couldn’t use both?”

“No. . . well, yeah.  Because corn is your secret ingredient and Rupert can’t use it. . . because the corn is yours.”

“I see.”

“So . . . um, what do you do?”

“Is there any reason I cannot simply discuss this with Rupert?”

Dick shook his head and groaned in frustration.  He loved Alfred, but sometimes he had the strangest ideas.  “Never mind, Alfred.”

“I apologize for not being able to help you, Master Richard.”

“It’s okay.”

Alfred glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall.  “While I have enjoyed your company, it is quite late.  Perhaps you should take advantage of the lack of sinister plots and get a full night’s sleep for once.”

That did sound good, though it was only theoretically possible.  In actuality, he would lie in bed on full alert for at least another three hours.

But Alfred worried and Dick didn’t want to be the cause.  So using every stealth skill he’d learned, Dick made his way easily past the ballroom to his own room. After sliding on his pajamas, he climbed into bed and waited for sleep to come.  In the meantime, Dick willed good thoughts to push out the depressing ones.    
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were in the barn again. Dick was perched on a stool that was just begging to collapse beneath him and his inexperienced hands were fumbling against Molly’s udder in a completely futile attempt to get milk.  The poor cow was mooing and stomping in agitation and Dick was seriously considering stopping. 

But then Clark was behind him. Clark’s red and blue plaid shirt was rolled up to expose forearms wider than Dick’s torso.  

“Let me help you,” Clark whispered in his ear. It was Superman’s voice, which meant it was able to be a plea and a command all wrapped into one.  Even if Dick had been able to resist that voice, he couldn’t resist  those hands, that slid so easily around his. 

“Dick.” Clark’s mouth is warm against the side of his neck. “Poor Molly. We want your grip to be firm and confident, like this.”  

With Clark’s fingers woven around his, Dick readjusted his grip. Clark guided his fingers up and down on the teat slowly. “Dick.”  The voice sounded further away, thought Clark was still right there, behind his ear.  Dick leaned back into that wide chest and Clark’s arms seemed to engulf his tired body.

Molly was mooing contentedly in front of him.  Dick’s grip steaded as he became more confident in his strokes.  From behind him, Clark’s hips moved in a perfect rhythm with his hand motions. Each thrust of the older man’s hips made Clark’s erection painfully - and ecstatically- obvious. 

“Dick.”  The voice was even further away this time. 

“Clark.”

Suddenly, Clark’s hands weren’t wrapped around his any longer.  Instead, they were shaking his shoulders rather forcefully.  “Dick.” 

That wasn’t Clark’s voice.

“Dick!”

With a start, Dick woke up. He’d faced a lot of villains, and stared some of society’s worst directly in the eye.  None of those were as terrifying as waking up from a wet dream about Superman to see the disapproving glare from Batman.  Well, actually, Bruce Wayne, since he was still wearing the tuxedo.   

//Please, please don’t let me have talked in my sleep.// 

“Hey, Bruce. Something wrong?”

“You left the party.”

“Yeah. Wasn’t really my style.”

Dick should have known by now that what worked with Alfred very rarely worked with Bruce.  To prove the point, the little vein just below Bruce’s left ear began to throb.  “We have discussed the need for you to be present, at these things, Dick. It may not be your style, but the rest of the world must believe it is.”

“The party’s over now, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me then?  I assume from your. . suit that this isn’t an emergency.”

The vein was doing the polka now. Dick was actually very pleased. He hadn’t had a very good night, why should Bruce?

“I want to know why you left the party.”

//Fat chance of that happening.// “I told you-“

“No.  I want to know the truth.”

//And I want to go back to sleep.// “Fine.  I can’t dance.”

Dick was pleased to note that Bruce’s face could in fact turn the same color as Superman’s cape.

//Oh, God, please don’t let me have talked in my sleep.//

“I sent you to the best dance teachers the city of Gotham has.  I know better.  Moreover, I’ve seen you dance before.”

“Not slow dancing,” he insisted rebelliously. “I never saw the point in how slow dancing would help in our line of work, so I didn’t really pay attention.”

That vein was really doing some extraordinary tap dancing. Dick wondered if Alfred would forgive him if he succeeded in giving Bruce a heart attack.   

“Slow dancing provides invaluable boosts coordination, timing, and balance.”

“I’m an acrobat. My coordination, timing and balance are just fine.”  

“You aren’t an acrobat any more.”

Ouch.  That hurt, because it wasn’t as though Dick didn’t think of the reason why he wasn’t an acrobat every single day of his life.  

The vein was still throbbing, but Bruce unclenched his hands from where they had been engaged in a death grip at his side.  It was likely the only acknowledgment Dick would ever receive that he had gone too far.  

“Get dressed,” Bruce ordered shortly.  “And meet me in the Bat-cave.”

“Why?”  Because there still wasn’t an emergency, since Bruce was still in that damn tux.

The hands clenched again. “I’m going to teach you how to slow dance.”

“No.”

“You need to learn.”

“Not from you.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because,  Holy Freud, Batman?”

Bruce crossed his arms impatiently with his hands still clenched.  “Fine.  Then Alfred-“

“No. That’s worse.”

From the way Bruce glared at him, Dick seriously wondered why he hadn’t come up with a better lie to cover his absence from the ballroom.

“Get dressed. Get down to the Cave,” Bruce said icily. He turned to go, and even the stupid portion of Dick that had argued with Bruce thus far this morning refused to continue on that path.  “And Dick, take a shower first.”

The rebellion that Bruce’s glare had squashed resurrected itself.  “I’m not dancing with Oliver Queen, either!” His call met an empty room as Bruce slammed the door behind him.  
\----------

Fifteen minutes later, Dick walked into the Bat-cave and had no doubt that he had, in fact, talked in his sleep. The proof of this fact loomed over Bruce’s empty chair in full red, blue, and gold splendor.

“Hello, Dick,” Superman greeted cheerfully.  “Bruce called.  Apparently, I’m supposed to teach you how to dance.”

Crap.  No, they were clearly beyond PG cursing.  Shit.  Shit. Shit.  Shit.  How exactly was he supposed to get out of this?  That is, how was he supposed to not lie to Superman when he was this close to. . . being able to touch him?

“Superman,” he began as the other man fiddled with the music controls on the Bat-computer.  “I...”

//I . . . what? ‘Well, I’m a horrible liar?’ //

“Hold on a second, Dick,” Superman had no longer finished pronouncing the ‘k’ in his name before the man’s clothing completely changed.  It wasn’t the plaid that Dick loved so much, but reporter Kent’s outfit would have to do.  

“These seem a bit more appropriate,” Clark offered with a slight shrug.

“Um. . . yeah.”

“Dick, if you aren’t comfortable, we don’t have to do this.”

//No, I’m completely comfortable doing this,// Dick thought with a sigh. //It’s the whole using false pretenses to touch you that’s getting to me.//  “I’m fine with it,” he said aloud. “Besides, if I don’t do it with you, Bruce’ll insist on teaching me himself.”  Once the words were out, Dick mentally cringed at them. He could have phrased that much better, if he’d actually had anything resembling sleep.  

"Well, that can’t be a comfortable proposition. Slow dancing should be taught by someone who actually enjoys it.”

//Yeah, unlike Old Mr. Jergens, who actually taught me,// Dick agreed privately. His thoughts stubbornly refused to connect with his mouth, however.  

Clark fiddled one more time with the computer and music began to spill out of the speakers. The music was old and stuffy and very Bruce-like.  It sounded like the kind of music that would enjoy waking someone up from very pleasant drams about fantastic barn sex for no good reason.

“Slow dancing is actually pretty simple,” Clark informed Dick. “It’s basically a matter of watching your partners’ lead and doing the opposite of their steps a beat later.”

Which, of course, was why Bruce thought it was important for Dick to know.

But some of the logic left Dick’s brain as Clark stepped forward and slid his right hand around Dick’s waist. Cohesive thought pretty much jumped out the window as Clark’s left hand reached for Dick’s right one and their fingers intertwined just like. . .

No.  It was probably best not to dwell on the barn sex dream.  

“When I step forward with my left foot, you step backward with your right.  Similarly, when I step forward with my right, you step forward with your left,” Clark’s voice said into his ear.

Dick managed to nod, despite the fact that Clark’s voice traveled straight from his ear canal to his knees, where the warmth therein melted both of his patellas.  

“And Dick?  This is usually easier if you relax.”

“Sorry. I’ll try.”

“There’s no need to apologize.  Most people are nervous their first time.”

Dick wondered if the fact that the latter part of Clark’s statement made him want to giggle was a sign of age regression - to the approximate age of twelve.  He ignored that thought and tried to focus on relaxing. He used the techniques Mr. Jergens had shown him, which made him feel about as morally sound as a sewer rat. However, as he tried to relax, he realized that his right arm was hanging retardedly at his side. Clark hadn’t mentioned moving it, but Dick knew- from Mr. Jergens - that a person didn’t just leave their arms flapping around in the middle of a dance.

//“Harmony is very important in dance, Grayson,”// That was all very fine and well, of course, except for the fact that his body had a very different type of harmony in mind.

Still, Clark was probably figuring that Dick would place his hand on his waist when he was comfortable with it, and Dick didn’t want to disappoint. Thus, with a great amount of trepidation and a dose of willpower that would make the entire Green Lantern Corps jealous, Dick simultaneously leaned his body closer to Clark’s and slid his arm around Clark’s waist.

Dick’s courage was rewarded with one those genuine smiles that seemed so effortlessly at home on Clark’s face. Dick wondered if there was another person on the planet that would look that sincere with a smile that wide stretched across his face. He sincerely doubted it.

“I’m going to add another step,” Clark warned. “When I step left with my left foot, you follow with your right foot.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Dick agreed, tilting his head up to look at Clark. It was probably a testament to the type of man Clark was that Dick could be practically a foot shorter and not feel ridiculous standing so close to him.

//Sex would be the same way.// Stop, he ordered his brain.  He couldn’t allow his mind to wander like that, when he was standing so close to Clark. Because if his stupid, horny, rebellious, hormone-ridden teenage body gave any signs of how much he wanted this man, Dick would have no choice other than to crawl off in a hole somewhere and wait for the imminent death that such embarrassment would bring.

//And Bruce probably won’t even let me die in peace.//

Thus, Dick was trying very hard not to focus on the enjoyment he was receiving from these dance lessons.  But the analytical portion of his mind was filing away every detail so that later, when he was alone, the details could be re-summoned.

//Just like the barn.//

Hence, Dick absorbed the way Clark’s muscles glided under his fingertips with a fluidity that water would possess if it could be a solid without freezing first. Clark was nowhere near cold - warmth oozed from beneath the two layers of clothes and Dick wondered how that much heat would feel skin to skin, completely wrapped around his.

That, unfortunately was the wrong thought to have standing this close to Clark. Dick’s mutinous body completely betrayed him at that point.  As close as they were, there was no way Clark could not feel that.

Mortified, Dick started to push away, only to find that Clark’s hand traveled to the small of his back, pinning him in place.  “Dick,” that calm voice said quietly, “Please don’t be upset.  It’s normal for your body to react this way. . . especially the first time.”

//Oh, dear, sweet, wonderful Clark, this was so very much not normal.//   Normal people didn’t lie to their mentor because they thought he might be knocking boots with the object of their affections.  Normal people used porn for their jerk off fodder. Normal people didn’t memorize every step of instructions for a dance they already knew how to do for jerk off purposes.  Normal people really, really didn’t try memorize Clark’s tone each time he said, “especially the first time.”  

Dick certainly hadn’t gotten an erection dancing with Mr. Jergens, either.  

But Dick wasn’t going to argue with Clark.  Instead, he leaned even closer and wondered if he was imagining the barely perceptible shift in Clark’s body as it appeared to move. . .nearer. Yep, definitely his imagination.  Dick decided his imagination was both unrepentantly horny and cruel.

“If that’s true, then I’m really glad I refused to let Bruce teach me,” Dick stated, completely ignoring the lie that had gotten him here in the first place.

When Clark laughed in response, his abdomen muscles rippled against Dick’s, massaging them in the process.  “I can imagine,” he responded, patting Dick’s back in a conspiratorial fashion that helped smooth away some of the doubts Dick had thought earlier in the evening.

“Is there something wrong, Dick?”  Clark pulled back to look at him quizzically, and every part of Dick protested the separation.

“No,” he reassured the older man hastily in hope that Clark would close the distance between them again, and not just because the closeness was good for his hormones. The Bat-cave, which was practically Dick’s home, seemed suddenly cold and damp without Clark’s body up against his own.

“Are you sure?  You tensed up.”  

“Oh. . . I was just thinking about Stupid Oliver Queen.”

Clark nodded, as if that made perfect sense, which in turn, made Dick want Clark a little bit more than he already did.  “How is Mr. Harper doing?”

“Oh, he’s fine.”  If Roy could see him now, Speedy would totally do a ‘my sanity trumps yours’ dance.  Wasn’t that a sad little commentary on Dick’s mental state?

“I hear from Green Lantern that you visit him frequently. He’s fortunate to have a friend like you.”

“I wasn’t a good friend when it mattered,” Dick grumbled.  “If I had been- ”

“Roy might still have ended up where he currently is,” Clark interrupted.

“Maybe.”

“Sometimes no matter how hard we try, our friendships aren’t enough, Dick.  Sometimes the actions of others. . . especially fathers. . . can damage a person.”  Clark sighed and a rare indecisive look passed over his face. Finally, he remarked, “Sometimes all the King’s horses and all the King’s men can’t help them - no matter how much you want to.”

Dick frowned.  Clark very obviously wasn’t talking about Roy.  Who was he talking about?  The actions of others. . . damage. . . ?  

//Bruce?//

No. Just no.  “I don’t think Roy’s beyond the King’s horses or men,” he said confidently.

“I’m glad.  You know. . . I hear from Ms. Troy that Speedy’s quite handsome.”

Someday in the future, he’d be able to tell someone \- someone other than Clark - that he preferred male parts to female ones. Then he’d share that once upon a time in the Bat-cave, he’d slow danced with Superman while the Man of Steel had been trying to play match maker between himself and Speedy.  When that day came, Dick planned to laugh hysterically for at least ten minutes straight.

“Roy is pretty cute,” he agreed.

“Hmm.”

“He and Wally are also currently engaged in a little game I like to call, ‘Who Can Be the Straightest Man Alive.’  This week Wally’s winning, but Roy’ll probably catch up once he gets out of rehab.”

“Oh,” Clark smirked down at him, which Dick greatly appreciated.  Superman didn’t smirk, and Superman didn’t have sex. . . probably.  But Clark totally could do both.  For a fleeting moment, Clark was his farm boy once again, and bats don’t belong on a farm.  Never mind the fact that the business suit that Clark currently wore smelled like ink and the faintest scent of cigar smoke. Underneath both of those came the subtle scent of sunshine and wind that followed Superman everywhere, and made it a tiny bit ridiculous that people couldn’t tell they were the same person. Then again, how many people had their noses pressed so closely to Clark Kent’s chest?

“Dick, is there a particular reason why Bruce believes that you don’t know how to do this?”  

//Damn.// “Um, I kind of told him I couldn’t.”

Clark gave him an eyebrow raise that would have made Spock proud.  “I assume there was a good reason for that.”

“Not really.”  Dick wondered how much of this story he could tell before Clark would pull away from him.

It was interesting that Clark hadn’t pulled away yet.  Hmm.

“Dick, I know Bruce can be. . . intense, but he loves you like a son -“

“And I really shouldn’t lie to him,” Dick acknowledged.  “I know, but he’s so stubborn. . . and I didn’t want to stay and watch stupid old Oliver Queen. . . and we got into an argument. . . and all that mattered was being right.  So. . . I lied.”  Really, it was miraculous that Clark wanted to be in the same room with him.  All their conversations seemed to consist of Dick whining.

Clark looked like there was more to be said, but in the end he merely asked, “Since you do know what you’re doing, do you want to lead?”

“Sure.”  It was wrong to lead Superman, but . . . Dick had never lead before. He wanted to. “Um, Clark?”

“Yes, Dick?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For bringing you here under false pretenses.”

“I’ve told you before that I’m always happy to spend time with you, Dick. While I can’t condone lying to Bruce. . . I can understand the feelings of frustration that preceded the decision. It’s a feeling I’ve known before.”

“I’m glad he frustrates you too.”  Maybe that meant they weren’t together - or ever had been.

“Batman frustrates everybody,” Clark assured him.

That closed the conversation between them.  For the next ten minutes, the only sound that could be heard was the cheesy music and the sound of Clark’s shoes moving in perfect harmony to Dick’s own.  

When the music stopped, Clark pulled away, and Dick fought down the disappointment.  Of course Clark had to go. The man didn’t live at the manor.

//Thank God.//

“I have to go,” Clark told him, and in Dick’s cruel but sometimes useful imagination, he sounded regretful about it.

“I’ll see you around.”

“Absolutely.  Remember, you know where I am, if you need anything. . . or if you need to talk. It might be a better alternative than lying to Bruce.”

“I’ll remember.”  

Dick watched Clark go. Then he turned to shut the computer of and headed back upstairs.  As he had expected, Bruce was waiting for him in the Alfred-less kitchen.  The slight scowl on his face let Dick know that the man had been eavesdropping in some way, shape or form.  Dick tried to push down the temper that wanted so much to surface as he waited for the yelling that was sure to come.

It didn’t.  Instead, Bruce said simply, “Superman is . . . thunder and lightning, Dick. It would be terribly unwise to get . . . attached.”

“I know, Bruce.  We’ve had this discussion before.”  They had, back when Dick’s affection had been nothing stronger than hero worship.

“Yes we have.  Good night, Dick.”

Dick waited until there were no witnesses in the kitchen before stealing a bowl of Alfred’s chili from the refrigerator.  As he waited for it to warm up in the microwave, he considered Bruce’s words.  Dick supposed there was some truthfulness to them. After all, it would probably take the combined might of the entire Justice League to stop Superman if. . . if it were ever needed.  Bruce’s statement did almost guarantee that Dick’s earlier suspicions hadn’t been true, which made Dick immensely relieved. But mostly, all Dick could feel was pity that Bruce couldn’t see that Clark was, in addition to thunder and lightning, also marshmallows and slow dances.  
                  
\---


	4. Complexes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets smacked with the sex pollen and gives Dick more issues to sort out. Roy tries to help.

If Dick had to spend as much time in the Cadbury Rehabilitation Center as Roy had, he was pretty sure he'd * _start_ * doing drugs. That was a horrible thought, probably, but the people here were so * _cheerful_.* Didn't they understand that the people here were here because they had problems? Didn't they know that lulling the residents into a fake sense of secure happiness was a good way to destroy their chances at success once they left the facility?

On the other hand, it was entirely possible that Dick was projecting. In fact, not only was it possible, it was likely. Projection was a defense mechanism, wasn't it? Lord knew that defense mechanisms were an understandable outcome of the week's events.

  
Roy * _looked_ * genuinely happy. Maybe he was.

"You know," the subject of Dick's musings commented between bites of his sandwich, "I'd offer you a penny for your thoughts, but they kinda confiscated mine when I checked in. Apparently, there's a way to slit your wrist with a penny."

Dick frowned at his companion from across the worn picnic table. "Was that ever a . . . concern?"

"Eh, smack withdrawl'll mess with you. Besides, a policy's a policy, you know?" Roy took another bite of his sandwich and didn't bother to swallow before speaking again, "But we weren't talking about me."

No, but they * _should_ * have been. One of Dick's closet friends had been near suicide and he'd been completely oblivious to it. Between Roy's disclosure and the other revelations of the past week, how much more self absorbed could he get? What else slipped by his observation from day to day? Most importantly, how could he ever hope to be a detective at this rate? "Roy, I should have known. I'm sorry for -" For what? For being oblivious? For being self centered? "For not seeing what was right in front of me."

Yeah, that about summed up his life, didn't it? Or, if that was overly dramatic, it certainly summed up the past week of said life.

Roy shook his head dismissively before biting into his second sandwich. "We weren't talking about me, Robbie."

At the sound of his Titan-related name, Dick snapped out of his self-pitying mood. "Roy," he hissed, "Not in public."

His well placed concern was rewarded with an eye roll. "What am I, stupid? I know the rules, Short Pants," and here he stopped to drum his fingers on the table top while Dick took the time to spazz out.

Really, what else was he supposed to do? The combined weight of the week's events along with Roy's antics were too much. "Then why aren't you * _following_ * the rules?"

  
Roy sighed, put down his sandwich, and folded his hands in front of him. Despite all signs to the contrary, Dick wasn't oblivious enough to miss the extra meat that Roy had added to his frame in the three weeks he'd been here. "Look around, Dick. There are no witnesses, no cameras, no microphones, no supervillians, nothing but us, this picnic table, and our lunch." Roy spread his arms in an attempt to prove his point. "The shrinks here say that sometimes you just need space, ya know? That's why they have this place. As long as we don’t come back drunk or high, you're allowed a weekly privilege."  
  
Space. Dick wondered what the Cadbury treatment for * _too much_ * space was. "They won't let you have pennies, but they'll let you near sticks and sharp stones?" Not to mention spare pieces of wood from the table, leaf edges. . . so many ways for Roy to hurt himself out here where no one was looking. But wasn't that always when people got hurt?  
  
"You have to prove yourself first," Roy said quietly. "I have."  
  
"Yeah, you have," Dick agreed, though they were now talking about completely different things.  
  
Roy smirked and picked his sandwich back up. "Flattery will not buy you distraction, Robbie. So whatever's bothering you. . . why are you molesting my lunch tray?"  
  
Dick looked up from his handiwork. "I'm making sure the trays aren't rigged."  
  
"Uh huh. Satisfied?"  
  
No, he wouldn't' be satisfied for a very * _long_ * time, would he? "The trays * _look_ * okay." He cast a suspicious glance towards the tree tops above them.  
  
In front of him, Roy audibly groaned. "This is a drug treatment center, Dick.  Nothing's bugged."  
  
Dick squirmed in his chair and very carefully didn't meet Roy's gaze. He knew full well that they weren't being watched. He'd done a thorough and much more covert search of the area before he'd sat his tray down to eat. Roy hadn't noticed because he didn't live with Batman. Not that * _that_ * fact made that much difference. Dick was pretty conclusive proof that living with Batman didn't guarantee you to understand every clue placed directly in front of one's face.  
  
So, no, it wasn't the security of the place that served a hindrance, or even the embarrassment of his complete stupidity. It was the very important fact that Roy didn't know about his sexual preferences. That was kind of a necessary part for him to know in order to understand exactly why Dick was upset. "It's kind of complicated."  
  
"Yeah, I guess it'd have to be to throw you off kilter," Roy reasoned.  
  
"Roy-"  
  
"Look. Something's wrong, right? I can see it, and pretty soon Bats or the other Titans will notice too, and I know damn well you won’t tell them what's going on. Are you gonna make me quote Doc Faygo about the dangers of keeping stuff bottled up?"  
  
"You sound like a guy who's been in therapy too long." Dick attempted to joke Roy's concerns away. But, God, what if Roy was right? Dick couldn't handle a clumsy stab at an explanation from Bruce. It was Bad enough that Alfred was offering *his* condolences.  
  
And Clark. . .  
  
_// "I would never purposely hurt you."//_  
  
Roy shrugged his shoulders and polished off the rest of his second sandwich. "You sound like a guy who * _needs_ * therapy. So, spill, cuz you know I'm right anyway."  
  
Maybe, just maybe - it would be helpful to talk to Roy. He'd have to leave bits and pieces out, of course, for privacy reasons, but he wanted to tell someone. He wanted someone who wasn't Clark or Bruce to know. He needed someone to feel his pain who wasn't hoping that Clark could save Bruce from a life of loneliness, as Alfred so readably was.  
  
Besides, no one said he had to mention by name. . . or gender. "Well, you've heard about sex pollen, right?"  
  
Seeing that Dick was acquiescing, Roy started in on his fries. "Sure, The ol' sex pollen is whispered about in the halls of the Justice League Watchtower as frequently as the body swaps, the time all the male leaguers got pregnant or Grodd's banana flavored aphrodisiacs."  
  
Dick had always wondered how those stories circulated with such frequency. Maybe it was the villains - maybe the next time Poison Ivy broke out of jail, she would consort with Lex Luthor, bragging about how she had thwarted both Superman and Batman with the old sex pollen standby.  
  
"I always figured it for an urban legend, though," Roy mumbled through the last of his fries.  
  
"No," Dick said miserably, "Poison Ivy's sex pollen most definitely is * _not_ * an urban myth."  
  
"Hmm. . . I wonder if the other things are true, then. Uh, I mean, that sucks. D'ya get doused with some?"  
  
" * _I_ * didn't." Because that would have been too simple. If * _he_ * had been affected, then Clark would have had to -  
  
_// "He's dying, Dick. I don't have a choice."//_  
  
Roy had finished the fries and moved onto his first brownie. "Did Bats get doused?"  
  
"Yea. . . and it wasn't just regular sex pollen." Wow, his life was messed up when he could use the phrase “regular sex pollen” without irony. "It affected the circulatory system pretty badly-"  
  
_// "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him, Superman."_  
"We have to do something, Alfred. His heartbeat is astronomical.”  
"I am painfully aware of that fact, Sir. I believe the only recourse is simply to end the reason for his illness."  
"You're asking me to have sex with Bruce when he isn't capable of giving consent."  
"I'm asking you to save his life."//  
  
"- and the only way to save him was to cure him of the sex pollen's effects," Dick finished.  
  
"So, what you're saying is that Ivy gave Batsy Pon Farr?" Roy clarified.  
  
"It's an apt analogy, but I thought you hated Star Trek."  
  
"Yeah, but unfortunately, you don't have the same great taste as I do. So, Bats got Pon Farr and you had to. . . oh, God, Dick, no wonder you're depressed." Roy's wide eyes and slightly agape mouth revealed the way he'd misunderstood what Dick was saying.  
  
"No, Roy - I didn't have to do anything. There was someone else there with us - another hero."  
  
"Oh," Roy looked visibly relieved and proved his relief by shoving three quarters of his second brownie into his mouth before continuing. His full mouth caused the vowels to slur slightly, but Dick understood him well enough to get the gist. "I didn't think anyone ever went on patrol with you guys. You know, with Bats' whole 'this is my city' gig."  
  
"Usually, it's just us," Dick agreed, ignoring Roy's slight at Batman. "But on Tuesday - uh, someone else joined us."  
  
Which was the vicious irony of the whole story. Dick had been happy - nearly ecstatic - that Toy Man and Poison Ivy had been working together, because it had meant that Clark would come on patrol with them. Besides the pure joy that Dick derived from Clark's physical presence, they always shared a conspiratorial comradery that came from having the audacity to be outwardly joyful in Batman's presence.  
* _That_ * was disloyal, too. Dick wasn't entirely certain that he didn't deserve the end of Tuesdays' events.  
  
Roy looked like he wanted to question who the "someone else" was, but he shoved the rest of the brownie into his mouth instead. "So, this someone else helped Bats out, you escaped with your virginity in tact. What's the problem, short pants?"  
  
* _That's_ * the problem, Dick thought silently. "That someone else was a person I am - was - attracted to." _*In love with.*_ "A lot."  
  
Roy nodded as though that made perfect sense and wasn't at all fucked up, which only proved that drugs fried your brain cells. "So, was it Supes or Batgirl?"  
  
Dick stared at the completely nonplused archer in front of him, glanced carefully down from the height of the metaphorical tightrope he was standing on, and continued forward anyway. "Superman," he confided softly.  
  
"Damn. I won the pool, and I can't ever claim the prize money."  
  
"What? There's a pool?"  
  
"Yeah - over the big unrequited crush you have that's keeping you from having any semblance of a dating life? Donna had picked Batgirl, but you get all red and blushy when you stand next to Big Blue, so I figured it was probably him. Garth had you down for the Riddler, though, so you might want to kick his ass."  
  
"It was that obvious," Dick said depressingly. That was how Alfred had known, how Clark had known, how Bruce * _probably_ * had known. A glance too long, a smile too wide, a giggle too sincere - any of these could have tipped off anyone with half a brain.    
  


"I was high a lot, and I still figured it out, so yeah, it was pretty obvious."

Dick ignored that comment and tried to focus on the one good thing that had occurred this week. "You, um, seem to be taking this pretty well."'

Roy chugged down his chocolate milk and tried, unsuccessfully to shrug at the same time, which caused a little bit of milk to dibble down his chin. Roy wiped it away with his arm. "You mean the whole gay thing?”

"Yeah," Dick agreed, both relieved and annoyed with Roy's easy acceptance of this. It was a huge part of Dick's life, and such easy acceptance trivialized the angst he'd had. This was more proof he was screwed up, of course. "I mean, you're pretty straight.”

Roy fiddled with his milk cartoon before opening his juice. "Yeah, well, I did a lot of things to get money for drugs, so. . . not so much entirely straight, I guess."

"Oh, I didn't-"

"It's not the same as you wanting Supes, of course. But let's say I've been on the receiving end of a dick, okay? So, no judging, and all that." Roy chuckled at the innuendo that hung in the air between them. "Now, for the _*love of Dick,*_ would you please get back to the point?"

 

“For the love of Dick?"

 

"Eh, someone in my group used it the other day, I thought of you, giggled hysterically, and had to be subjected to a random drug test. Dumbasses - I wasn't ever that amused when I was on the smack."  
  
Dick noted that Roy's tray was empty, so he pushed the nearly untouched food of his own tray towards Roy. The redhead smiled widely and snatched the tuna sandwich off Dick's tray.  
  
"There's not a whole lot more to the story-"  
  
_// "I'm sorry, Master Richard."_ __  
_"Dick, I'm sorry."//_  
  
"-Other than the fact that I can't decide whether I have an Oedipal or Electra Complex."  
  
Roy perked up. "We talked about those on Monday! Doc Hershey thinks I have unresolved Oedipal issues on account of losing my parents when I was little. He's also convinced that I really want to bang Dinah - which is just gross, by the way - but I will admit to having violent thoughts about Ollie, so Hershey's half right."  
  
Violent thoughts about one's mentor was something Dick could definitely relate to. Which was wrong, of course, because it was * _Dick_ * who had betrayed Bruce. It was * __Dick * who had wanted what Bruce had possessed. Bruce had made that very clear while under the influence of the pollen. The pollen had made Bruce chattier than he’d ever been before.  


  


_ // "Don't you want me anymore, Clark?"  
_

_ _ _ _ "Bruce, you've been affected by Poison Ivy."  
_ _

_ _ _ _ "You used to want me. You were so sad when I ended us. I've always imagined you went back to Fortress and cried yourself to sleep. Did you, Clark? Did you cry for me?"  
_ _

_ _ _ _ "More than you know."  
_ _

____"Let me make it up to you."//__  
  
"But I don't think you can have an Electra Complex," Roy said hesitantly. "They're kinda just for chicks."  
  
"But it's an attraction to fathers, and an Oedipal Complex is an attraction to mothers. Superman isn't a woman."  
  
Roy snatched the now cold fries off of Dicks' plate, wiped the mustard off of them and popped a handful into his mouth. "True, but he's not your father, either. That'd be Batsy, wouldn't it? So, unless you're attracted to him, too. . . not that there's anything wrong with that. . ."  
  
Dick scowled at Roy and hoped that a wayward ant had managed to crawl into Roy's tuna when neither of them were watching. "No. I am NOT attracted to Bruce. I am, however, screwed up enough that an entire field of psychiatry can't diagnose me."  


_ // "Or have you moved on?  To my ward, perhaps?" _

_"No, Bruce. Dick is . . . a child."//_  


  
Roy didn't show any signs of accidental ant ingestion as he answered. "Maybe you have both - an Electripal complex. Or an, um, Oedictra Complex. Or maybe you don't have any type of complex at all."  
  
"How can you have been paying any attention at all and possibly think that?"  
  
"Dude, you don't have a thing for all of Bats' lovers, right? It's just Supes?"  
  
Dick had never fantasized about any of Bruce's other lovers. Oh, sure, he would readily acknowledge that Selina Kyle was the best thing to ever fill out a leather skirt. He stood in awe of the never ending fishnets that Dinah and Zatanna could make simultaneously classy and incredibly dirty. For that matter, Vicki Vale's legs were an impressive force of nature, even if they don't start to make up for her lack of a personality. Dick would even go so far as to admit that every once in a while, when Rachel remembered that Bruce existed and she came to visit, Dick's stomach tingled when she kissed him goodbye.  
  
But Dick had never * _wanted_ * them. Rachel could make Dick's stomach tingle, but Clark. . . well, Clark could make Dick tingle all over. It could probably be argued that Dick didn't want them because they were, well, * __female.* That was an important point, since Dick still wasn't sure how those things worked, exactly. Or, more specifically, how they worked for *him.* He knew that he lusted after men, but Batgirl . . . well, she could make him shiver in the good waysometimes, too. But most of fantasies had involved men, of late, so maybe the numerous women that Bruce had dated and Dick hadn't wanted didn't count.  
  
But Dick wanted them to count, because that way, Clark would be the only one in a *very long list* of Bruce's partners that Dick has ever wanted.  
  
"No," he said quietly. "It's just been Superman. No one else."  
  
"Well, see? There's nothing wrong with you, there. Who wouldn't want Superman? I bet at least a quarter of the straight male population of the world would say yes, if given the shot. You didn't stand a chance.”  
  
Dick tried to smile, but all the talk about mothers and fathers made him involuntarily think of his own parents. If they could see what a disloyal, foolish person he'd grown into. . .  
  
Dick didn't want to imagine the look of disappointment on their faces. "But the good news is that I rounded up Ivy and Toyman all by myself."  
  
Roy's smile was genuine. "It's good to know that Gotham had someone to count on while Supes and Bats were off knocking boots in the Batcave."  
  
"The Fortress of Solitude," Dick corrected softly. Which was a perfect place for them to go. Where *else* would they have had sex? Clark Kent couldn't have sex in a warehouse, inside a cave, or on a living room couch. He was too much of a farm boy for that. Clark Kent also wanted to spare poor, naive Dick's feelings, and thus, Clark had taken Bruce to the Fortress, where Bruce's ecstatic grunts and Clark's enthusiastic moans couldn't be heard through the entirely too thin walls of Wayne Manor.  
  
"Ah. And that's what's really chaffing your ass, isn't it?"  
  
Dick blinked and not for the first time, wondered why Roy couldn't use the regular English that everyone else did. "I don't-"  
  
"Come on, Robbie. You've lusted after Supes for I don't know how long, but at least for the entire time I've know you. You had to have to a setting for your fantasies. I don't think you're weird enough to have them take place in the Batcave, so that leaves the Fortress of Solitude."

"Well, yeah." There had only been that *one* fantasy about the Cave, and if that made him weird, he wasn't sharing. There was no way he could even start to tell Roy about the barn fantasies. . . and The Fortress had figured into his imagination a lot.   
  
"So, it's bad enough Batsy had to bang the object of your affection, but he had to do it in the one place you wanted to do it. That sucks."  
  
"Yeah, it does," Dick agreed softly. It sucked more that once upon a time, Bruce had been with Clark and then he had tossed it away. It sucked even more that Bruce saw Clark only as lightning and thunder and couldn't see that the man was also marshmallows and Christmas lights. If Clark had been Dick's - if Clark for one moment thought of him as something other than a *child*- he would have appreciated Clark so much more than Bruce did.  
  
Dick glanced at his watch. "Hey, we'd better get you back before they send out a search party."  
  
On the way back, Roy commented, as casually as he was able, "So, this is where I offer some type of cliché to make you feel better, right?"  
  
"Yeah. I've currently been working on the 'you can't miss what you never had' cliché. It's not working too well, though."  
  
Roy banged the trays against his legs thoughtfully. "Of course not - whoever came up with that one was retarded. It's gotta hurt more to lose something you never had. If you had actually had him, you'd have nice memories of fucking him rotten. But you don't even have those."  
  
Dick did have nice memories of Superman. He could, even amidst the slightly clinical smell of Cadbury, still smell the scents that went with Clark's barn. But the afternoon they'd spent in the barn seemed very, very far away.  
  
"So," Roy said, "Since I don't want our therapy session to have been useless to you, how about we use the 'things change' cliché?"  
  
"Sounds good." They had reached the actual clinical site of the treatment center. Various family members were saying goodbye, and Dick took the opportunity to give Roy a brotherly hug goodbye. "You weren't useless, either," he whispered quietly enough for him to hear. "I did need to talk. Thanks."

Dick carried Roy's pleased expression in his mind as he made his way back to Titan Tower. The talk with Roy *had* been helpful - it'd been nice to whine to someone that wasn't as claustrophobic as Alfred, Bruce, and Clark made him feel.   
  
"Things change" was a nice, comforting little cliché, as clichés went. It bore a lot of resemblance to Alfred's "Someday it will not hurt as much as this, Master Richard."  
  
Maybe Alfred and Roy were right. Since this was one of the few things they'd probably ever agree on, the truthfulness of their statements was almost undeniable. Maybe someday the story would find it's way to the Justice League ranks, along with the other surreal stories that passed within its’ walls. When it did, the leaguers would likely snicker and smirk, because what image cold be more inappropriately amusing than a Ivy-Juice-fueled sex session between the Dark Knight and the Big Blue Boy Scout?  
  
Dick was somewhat comforted by the thought. When the story was passed along, probably squished between the body swaps and the male pregnancies, there would be no mention of him. There would be no mention of how he'd so pathetically lusted after Superman, when Clark had already been in love with Batman. It was far better that his role would be forgotten than anyone should ever remember what a little fool he'd been.


	5. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scarecrow gas cliche hits Dick.  Clark comforts. Roy plays matchmaker. 

_  
_

  
_Dick ran._

_He’d been running for so long and his legs *hurt.*_

_. . . But he had to keep running. The tent was so far away from the tigers’ cages. . .and the tigers were already there._

_He had to save his family._

_The more he ran , the further away the tent seemed._

_But he had to *save* them._

_The tigers were. . . they were dangerous. The tigers would *hurt* his family._

_There was blood. . .the tigers. . one of them had bitten him when it had escaped._

_No, when Dick had *let* them out._

_The tigers were going to eat his family and it was all Dick’s fault._

\--------------------------

On the first day of Spring in Metropolis, it snowed.

As Clark stood on the roof to his apartment building, he was struck by both the appropriateness of the weather and by the memory of his very first Spring.

She had come to Clark in his sixth year of life.  Clark could still smell her strawberry scented creme rinse mingled with the farm smells of fertilizer and freshly planted grass seed. He still remembered the warm smile and round jagged edges of the girl next door’s fingernails. In the Springtime, the hay was still soft in the early morning from being kissed with dew the night before. The liquid seeped through his jeans as he laid down beside her, but Clark’s attention had been too focused on the way the sunlight danced off her red locks and in her green eyes. Spring’s kisses had been warm, gentle, and an invitation to bloom. 

Spring had lasted until Clark’s fifteenth year.   But Spring had slipped from Clark’s grasp as the all consuming heat of Summer came into his life.

In contrast to the slowly blossoming bulbs of Spring, the petals of Summer’s flowers were bright, wide, and full. The lilies smelled of scotch, expensive suits, and more pungent fertilizer.  The crops were watered with a sprinkler whose wetness Clark mistook for having the same beneficial effect on the land that Spring showers had brought.  But he was mistaken. Clark had been so busy basking in the warmth of Summer’s sunshine and marveling at the beautiful flowers he wasn’t quite allowed to pick that he hadn’t noticed the people around him sweating and gasping for breath as the humidity grew intolerable. By the time Clark had noticed, the lilies had dried up from thirst, the grass had turned brown, and the crops had began to die.  

Superman still felt the sunshine on his skin every day, but it had been years since he’d felt the warmth of Summer.

By the time the first cool breeze of Autumn hit Clark’s skin, Summer had long since given way to a drought. Clark drank Autumn’s cool mornings and frosty nights as greedily as a newborn calf drank its’ mother’s milk.  Fall in Metropolis ushered in a multitude of perfectly matching tailored suits, bright blue eyes, and a wit as sharp as the leaves that crumbled beneath Clark’s feet.

But the Autumn winds that Clark longed to embrace were never meant for him and blew right past him in favor of warmer climates and bright costumes.

Unlike Autumn, Winter _knew_ Clark, and Clark _knew_ Winter. Winter had only lasted for a year, but Clark still cherished that year. While most of Winter was one long blizzard, Clark remembered the triumph of being invited into Winter’s Manor, and lying down with Winter in that never ending bed of silk sheets. The rare sight of Winter’s blinding smile seared through the cold air and Clark clung to that warmth, even as he felt the icicles scrape down his back.

But the blizzard thickened and soon Winter declared there to be no room in his Manor for anything but ice, snow, and The Mission.

A brand new Spring had changed that.

Alone on his rooftop, Clark tried not to think of Dick.   But his resolved proved to be useless, as he couldn’t quite forget the hurt look on Dick’s face from the aftermath of the Poison Ivy debacle. 

He’d _hurt_ Dick. That had never been Clark’s intention, and he gladly would have given his own life to prevent from hurting the younger man.

But it hadn’t been _Clark’s_ life that had hung in the balance. Thus, Clark had never really had a choice.

Truth be told, no one was at fault, except possibly Poison Ivy. But a part of Clark couldn’t help but feel anger towards Winter for demanding the right of one last snow shower to kill the Spring flowers before they’d even had time to bloom.  
\----  
        
_So many people.  Too many arms.  They’re holding him back - Dick can’t *reach* his family._

_But he can *see* them.  His mother, his father, Bruce, Alfred, Clark, Wally, Donna, Garth, Roy, Babs. . . they all stood on the platform, ready to swing._

_“Don’t!” he cries, before a hand claps over his mouth._

_Dick struggles.  He has to break free.   He has to save them._

_The tigers look up at his family and lick their jowls._

\----

Donna rubbed her already black eye as she followed Roy to the communication console.  “I still say we should contact Batman.”

“No.”

“Why not?  Batman _is_ Robin’s mentor.  Besides, Dick already has it programmed into the system.”

“Donna, if we contact Old Mighty Mouse and he has to come rescue Dick, how will that make Short Pants feel?”

Donna stopped rubbing her eye and simultaneously stopped looking at Roy as though she suspected he might still be on smack.  “He’d feel like he’d let Batman down.”

“Exactly.”

“You don’t think he’ll feel that way about Superman?”

“Donna, everybody gets rescued by Superman. Not even Robbie is big enough of a freak to mind getting rescued by Big Blue.”   Roy rubbed his jaw, which was turning a complimentary shade of blue to match Donna’s eye.  “Besides, it’s kind of obvious that we can’t handle him by ourselves, isn’t it?”

Donna sighed in resignation. "Yeah, I guess so” she conceded.  “But you’re the one talking to Martian Manhunter.”  
\----

_The crowd is parting. . . letting Dick through.  His heart skips a beat in excitement and he runs forward.  He can run past the tigers - he isn’t afraid of them._

_His hands reach the ladder before he’s pulled back.  These are different hands - a clown, a lawyer, a crocodile, a beautiful woman, a character from the Wizard of Oz . . . they aren’t from the crowd._

_Their laughter echos through the crowded circus tent as his mother grasps the handles and swings out._

_“No! Mom!”_  
\---

Clark was still standing on his rooftop, watching the snow fall when he received the JLA transmission.

“J’Onn, what’s wrong?”

“There had been a disturbance with the Titans, Kal-El,” the Martian responded calmly. 

_Robin_.   It was fortunate that J’Onn was calm, because at the mere mention of The Titans being in danger, Clark discovered he didn’t have possess the same ability.  “What kind of disturbance?”

“An altercation with Scarecrow,” J’Onn related.

_Robin_. “Have you notified Batman?” 

“I have not.  Speedy and Wonder Girl seemed quite insistent that you be the one to intervene-”

“Speedy and Wonder Girl? What about Robin?”

J’Onn paused slightly. “He is the one that has been affected. While the Titans were able to apprehend Scarecrow, Robin, apparently, is still quite ill.”

_Dick_. “Tell the Titans I’m on my way.”  
\-----   
_  
He can’t save her.  He’d known. . . known that something was wrong. . . he’d seen the tigers escape._

_No, he had let the tigers out._

_But he wasn’t able to save his mother.  Her dead body lays distorted and twisted on the ground and the tigers. . ._

_The tigers eat their fill of her.    Now they wait for his father to join her._

_“Dad!  Stop!”_  
\----

During the approximate five minutes it took Clark to find Dick, Clark had seriously considered contacting Bruce.  He probably should have done so back at the Lair, immediately after scolding The Titans for not following protocol.

But the minute Clark saw Robin, all thought of contacting the man Dick loved like a father left Clark. Dick was huddled at the bottom of a storm sewer.  His brilliant cape was sodden with mud and rain. Most of the rest of his costume had been torn away, while blood seeped through the remaining fabric.

The sight was a horrific one, but it wasn’t the blood, bruises, or torn costume that affected Clark the most.  As distasteful as all of those were, Clark had been witness to many such displays over his years as a superhero. While such a sight would never fail to tug at Clark’s heart, he knew it was an inevitable part of a business that had more and more non-metas entering every day.

But the sight of his Robin, down on his knees, sobbing, and gasping for breath was what stopped Clark in mid-flight. The agony displayed on the young man’s face wasn’t congruous with the carefree young man whose only real concern was that he might let the ones he loved down.

Dick’s sudden sharp cry was enough to force Clark back into action. Swooping down, Clark scooped the frightened child into his arms.

Batman would just have to be upset later. It was plain to see that Dick needed not only the antidote to the Scarecrow’s poison , which Bruce would provide, but human companionship as well, which Bruce wouldn’t.

Fortunately, back before they’d needed Ivy’s help to end up in bed together, Bruce had given Clark a small vial of the antidote that Dick so desperately needed currently.  The original vial had long since been used, but the formula was one The Fortress had easily replicated.

For now, Clark would heal Dick.  That was all that mattered.  
\----- __

_“Mom!”  Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear._  
“Dad!” Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear.  
“Bruce!” Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear.  
“Alfred!” Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear.  
“Clark!” Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear.  
“Roy!” Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear.  
“Donna!”  Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear.  
“Wally!”  Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear.  
“Garth!”  Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear.  
“Babs!”  Thud. Snap. Growl. Tear. 

_All gone.  All dead.  All his fault._  
\----

Dick’s cries filled the bedroom and echoed out into the atrium. It was very difficult for Clark to just sit there and wait for the antidote to take effect. Clark wasn’t Batman - he didn’t fight his enemies by careful planning and plotting. He struck them, quickly.

Which was, of course, completely useless against Scarecrow’s poison.   

\----  
_  
The Joker’s leering laugh slowly disappears.  Hands are no longer holding him.  He tries to move, but he can’t. . ._

_But Bruce is crawling towards him.  “You let me down, Robin.”_

_“I know. I’m sorry.”_

_Bruce’s laugh is cruel. “Do you think that’s enough?  This is all your fault, Robin.”_

_Then Bruce’s body is cold and Dick’s world goes black._  
\----

Clark’s breathing returned to normal about the time that Dick’s body stopped convulsing and the younger man’s heart stopped racing. 

While he was glad that Dick was out of danger, he was suddenly faced with another problem all together.  Generally speaking, Clark had a rule. He’d never fantasize about Dick until Dick was old enough to respond to those fantasies. 

Fantasies were, of course, different than want. Clark learned a long time ago - probably the first time Lex stood across from him as his enemy - that a person didn’t have a whole lot of say in who they _wanted_.

But fantasizing by allowing his mind to wander was as preventable as allowing his hands to wander, so Clark forced himself not to do either of them. 

With Dick’s tears dried and his face washed, however, Clark’s mind tried to wander against his will. It got as far as the feel of Dick pressed against his body during those dance lessons in The Cave before Dick shifted in the bed and the sound of the sheets rubbing against his skin reminded Clark that Dick was lying in the same spot where two weeks ago, his mentor and Clark had made love.

No. . . Bruce Wayne didn’t like that term.  “It’s archaic,” he’d told Clark once.  “And the phase only came into usage because the Victorians wanted a reason to feel good about having sex.”

Actually, what Ivy had forced them to do couldn’t have been misconstrued as “making love” by anyone, up to and including the Victorians.  Both the roughness of the act itself and the cold way Bruce had walked away afterwards guaranteed that.

Part of Clark would always lament the way Bruce had left without so much as a backward glance. On the other hand, Clark knew that Bruce’s behavior was nothing new. He’d been exiting out of Clark’s life in the same fashion for four years.    

A far greater part of Clark worried over the way Dick had exited his life that same day. Those always expressive bright blue eyes had at first been a shade too bright, then down cast as Clark had flown away with a suddenly amorous Bruce in his arms.

There hadn’t been any other choice, of course. Clark couldn’t have let Bruce die.  But he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d traded Dick’s . . _friendship_. . . in exchange for Bruce’s life.

What was it that Pa had told him in the beginning of his career as Superman?  “Sometimes making the right choice hurts, Son.”

Pa had certainly been right about _that_ one.  The prospect of never seeing Dick’s eyes glaze over with a combination of need, lust, and happiness upon seeing him made Clark ache in a way that he hadn’t since Bruce had closed the door on their relationship all those years ago.

It wasn’t any of those emotions that shown in Dick’s eyes as they fluttered open. Instead, they were instantly filled with fear, followed by confusion.

“Clark, you’re. . . _okay_.”

“Is there a reason I wouldn’t be okay?”  Given the nature of Dick’s earlier screams, Clark had a pretty good idea as to the answer, but he hoped Dick would be willing to tell him on his own accord.

“I . . . no, I guess not.  Bad dream.”

“I hear Scarecrow can have that effect on a person.”

Dick’s eyes widened and he struggled to sit up. The effort made the younger man wince, but in spite of his pain, Dick redoubled his efforts.   Clark watched him struggle for a minute before reaching out his hand and steadying Dick’s shoulders.  Dick flushed and pulled away. The latter was as potent as a fist full of Kryptonite, but Clark respected Dick’s discomfort and removed his hand from Dick’s shoulders.  “Your injuries haven’t had time to heal.  You should relax.”

“I can’t. Scarecrow -“

“Was effectively captured by Speedy and Wonder Girl. I’m told their efforts were only successful because a certain third Titan blocked a number of well aimed Gas Bombs lodged in their direction.”

“Then they’re okay too?”

Clark frowned.  “They’re concerned about their friend, but otherwise they’re fine.”

Dick leaned back into the pillows and did look visibly relieved, yet still weary. “Good,” he whispered. 

“That must have had some dream you had,” Clark prodded gently.

“It was nothing.  Does Bruce know what happened?”

“The Joker escaped from Arkham about the same time Scarecrow arrived here. Batman’s been a bit tied up, but I believe he’s been briefed.”

“Does he . . . know I’m here?”

“Alfred does.”

“Oh.”  Dick squirmed yet again.  It took a good deal of willpower to resist reaching out and steadying Dick a second time. “I should be getting back.”

“Dick-“

“He’ll need help with The Joker.”

“You’re in no condition to help him.  Your wounds need to heal.”  Clark bit his lip in frustration. Dick didn’t used to be this stubborn, but he was becoming a little bit more like Batman every day.  “You could take the time to rest, and tell me what happened in your dream to frighten you so badly.”

“I _wasn’t_ frightened.”

Clark paused long enough to see a future where Dick was as closed off as Bruce.  It was a future that Clark could see perfectly filtering between Dick’s assured leadership of the Titans and his desire to be the best sidekick possible.

It was also a future that terrified Clark.  “I would have been,” he said slowly, pushing the conversation forward as much as he dared without allowing Dick to see that he was doing so.  The fact that Clark had to tread so carefully was more proof that the legacy of Bruce was alive and well in his protege.   “Especially if those I cared about were in danger.”

Dick looked up in surpise.  “How. . . ?”

“You were pretty vocal during. . . the worst parts.”

“‘The worst parts’?”

“The convulsions.”

“Oh.  You. . . it was you holding me,” Dick deciphered slowly.  At Clark’s nod, he shook his head. “I thought you were the Joker.”

“See?  You’ve already told me a piece of your dream. You might as well tell me the rest of it.”

The edges of Dick’s mouth turned slightly, but it wasn’t quite a smile.  It _was_ defeat and Clark wanted to hold Dick in his arms and assure him that a smile _didn’t_ have to be synonymous with defeat. 

But the urge was forestalled as Dick leaned back into the pillows and began to speak. “I was at the circus. . . “

With everything Clark knew about Scarecrow, he almost didn’t want Dick to continue. 

“. . . Did Bruce ever. . . tell you about my parents?”

“A little.”  Clark didn’t add that he’d misused his reporter skills to discover the rest. 

“They were acrobats.  In my . . . _dream_.  So were Bruce, Alfred, The Titans, Batgirl . . . _you._ ” Dick took a deep breath before continuing.  “I kept trying to warn all of you not to get on the trapeze, but I-I failed, Clark.”

Instinctively, Clark’s hands wrapped around Dick’s own. “I’m sure you did your best.”

“It doesn’t matter.  It wasn’t _good enough_. All of you died and the tigers _ate_ you.”

“Dick-“

“I was _there_ , Clark, and I couldn’t stop it. You were all . . . _gone_ and I couldn’t. . . .”

Holding Dick’s hands wasn’t enough.  Clark pulled Dick close to him so that the younger man was nearly completely engulfed in Clark’s arms.  “I have a feeling that you aren’t truly afraid that any of us are going to be eaten by tigers. I don’t think you’re really afraid of us falling, either.”

“N-No.”

“Do you want to share what _is_ bothering you?”

Dick’s voice, when he answered, was very low, and Clark had to use his special hearing to understand him. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You never will be.”

Dick shook his head slowly. “The Titans aren’t. . . Wally’s not sure he wants to be Kid Flash anymore. . Garth’s spending more and more time in Atlantis. . Roy’s talking about joining some government job. We’re falling apart.”

“Going in separate direction doesn’t mean that your friends don’t care about you anymore, Dick. Sometimes, when you really care about someone, you have to give them room - and time - to grow.  Unfortunately, sometimes that means you have to be apart from them for a while.  It _doesn’t_ mean that you’re alone . . .or that you’ve lost them.”

“What if all signs say I have?”

“Then I’d say you need to re-examine your signs,” Clark said pointedly, certain they were no longer talking about The Titans. “And Dick, I want you to know that no matter what else transpires between Batman and Superman, I will always cherish the presence you have in my life.”

The corners of Dick’s mouth again danced as though they were contemplating turning up.  “Thanks. Um, me too.”

With more reluctance than he should have felt, Clark pulled away from Dick. “Now, why don’t you try to get some rest?  I’ll go get us something to eat, but I want to see some proof that those injruies have healed before I take you back to Gotham.”

Dick snuggled back into the pillows, but this time the gesture was no longer about defeat.  “Okay, but _you’re_ dealing with Batman.”

“Actually, Alfred already has.”  Clark tapped the side of his ear with his left hand. “One ‘bloody’ and two ‘dear boys’ later, they came to the mutual decision that you should recover for at least one night here.”

Dick smiled at him. To Clark, it felt like the sunshine of Spring.  
\-----

Donna watched Roy lose the battle with his chop sticks for at least five minutes before the humor began to wear off.  “You know, there are spoons and forks in the kitchen.”

Roy made the ill-timed decision of looking up and trying to consume part of his _jiaozi_ at the same time.  A decent portion of the food landed square in his lap.  After string of curses, and a failed effort to wipe the _jiaozi_ off his lap, he responded, “Yeah, but Supes brought these chop sticks all the way from China. I feel kinda bad about not using them.”

“Yeah, it was pretty nice of Superman to drop these off on his way back to The Fortress of Solitude,” Donna agreed, taking a bit of her own _baozi_.

“Clearly his way of showing gratitude to us for providing some alone time with Robin.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “You really are desperate to win that pool, aren’t you?  Face it, Speedy, Dick’s in love with Barbara Gordon - no matter how badly mismatched they may be.”

Roy shrugged. “Whatever.”  This was followed with another string of curses as another gob of _jiaozi_ fell in his lap. 

“You know, if you take that job with the government, let’s hope they never send you to China. You’d be executed for crimes against their country the minute you sat down to eat.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Donna’s pretty face momentarily clouded over. “You’re really going to leave us, aren’t you?”

“Look, Wonder Chick-” Roy stopped as he saw the expression on Donna’s face.  “Donna.  Sometimes things. . .change.  And sometimes they change for the better.”

Donna didn’t look convinced, any more than Dick had when he’d left Cadbury. Which made Roy swear never to offer advice to his fellow Titans ever again. He did pretty much suck at it.

Matchmaking, on the other hand, seemed  to be more his forte. After all, Supes and Short Pants were spending the night together. If that wasn’t progress, what was?  Sure, Scarecrow had played a huge role in the deal, but Roy had totally orchestrated the last move.

Roy just wished Supes and Robin would hurry _up_ already,  so that he could _claim_ the pool money he’d already won.  Not to mention, having sex with Superman had to dislodge the stick out of Dick's ass at least a little bit, which the poor guy desperately needed.

The fact that the person Dick had chosen as his major crush was the same person that had promised to gush praise over the successful capture of Scarecrow to Ollie at the next JLA meeting was a definite plus.

\----


	6. Come Fly With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick celebrates Paternal Figure Day, goes flying with Clark, channels his inner Jimmy Olsen, and hangs on for dear life.

There came a certain boldness out of sleeping in Superman’s bed.

For example, when Eric, the guy Dick had declined to go to the winder dance with, made a snide comment about "secrets," Dick merely smirked in reply and thought to himself that it was a shame that poor, open, secretless Eric would never sleep in Superman’s bed.

Also, when Babs had been on patrol with him and made a crack about his panties, he’d simply smiled and reminded her that _some_ people liked his panties. 

When Two-Face had taken time out from his latest evil plot to dredge up the old rumors about Batman being a big old pedophile, Robin had merely carefully aimed his batarang and told Two-face that Batsy’s bed wasn’t comfortable enough to interest him.

Bruce hadn’t cared for that, much.

But Dick must really have been feeling bold even a week after the event, because he was actually contemplating calling Clark and asking for a favor. Oh, sure, Clark had always assured Dick that he should do just that, but Dick had never taken him up on that offer. 

That was before he’d spent the night in Superman’s bed, of course.

Thanks to Scarecrow Gas, Dick had spent a full night in the Fortress of Solitude. Sure, nothing had happened. Because Dick still had two years to go until he would be legal enough for Superman to even think about touching. But it was te principle of the matter - that he _had_ spent the night in Superman’s bed - that allowed him the conceit necessary to believe that if he _had_ been just two years older, Clark would have wanted to touch him.

The same conceit gave Dick the confidence to dial each of the digits of Clark’s phone number except the last one four times in a row. 

That was four times more than he’d ever called Clark before. Still, by dial number five Dick was annoyed with himself, and had the sound of both Roy and Babs ringing loudly in his ear. Roy’s voice was telling him that he really needed to get laid, already, and Babs’ voice was offering to set him up with a "very nice cousin."

Ugh. It could never be a good thing for Dick when Barbara Gordon and Roy Harper were agreeing on something.

That knowledge alone was enough to make Dick’s fingers dial the last digit. 

By the third ring, the extra boldness that came from sleeping in Superman’s bed had deserted Dick. His heart was beating loud enough that Dick could swear Bruce could hear it all the way down in the cave. 

By the fourth ring, Dick felt almost a sigh of relief as he decided that Clark obviously wasn’t home. _Of course he wasn’t home._ He was Superman and he had responsibilities - 

"Hello?"

"Um, hey, Clark. It’s me," he said lamely. "And by me, I mean -"

"Dick! I recognize your voice."

That made Dick far happier than it should have, but his brain happily misconstrued it as ‘ _of course he recognizes the voice of the man who slept in his bed.’_

"Um, are you busy?" 

"Nope. I was just finishing helping Arthur clean up an oil spill when you called," Clark assured him. "And you should know by now that I’m never too busy to talk to you."

In that instant, Dick’s heart quit thundering and the queasy feeling in his stomach passed. "Are you sure?"

"I’m _sure,"_ Clark answered with what sounded like a mixture of exasperation and humor. "I’m actually pleased you called. This is a first. To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"Well, I kind of need a favor, if you’re not too busy."

"I’ll help you in any way that I can," Clark said, as though he really was just your average schmo and not someone who could fly from the middle of the Atlantic to Metropolis in four telephone rings. "What do you need?"

"Well, I need a ride." _Dammit!_ No, he didn’t say that part out loud. Maybe Babs and Roy were right. 

"Where to?" Clark asked, as though Dick wasn’t a horny little pervert who couldn’t hold an adult conversation if his life depended upon it. 

"Paris."

"I’d be happy to give you a ride, Dick -" Oh, Christ, yes, Babs and Roy _were_ right! "-but can I ask why you don’t simply take one of the Bat-planes?"

"Because this needs to be a _covert_ mission."

"Meaning you need an alibi?" Clark surmised. 

Ah, the familiar pang of guilt. "I wouldn’t ask you to lie."

"Of course not. When do you want to go?"

"Whenever’s good for you."

"How’s now work for you?"

"Now’s good."

"Give me three minutes."

"That long, huh?"

"Convincing Bruce might take a while."

With a smirk, Dick hung up the phone and certainly did _not_ count down the three minutes. He did, however, remind himself that knowing Superman had very cool perks. Especially after sleeping in the man’s bed. 

****

"You were late," Dick informed Clark as they flew through the clouds.

"Bruce took a little extra convincing," Clark admitted. "I think he was half afraid I would ‘kidnap’ you again."

"Kidnap?"

"It’s Bruce’s current word of choice to describe the Scarecrow Incident."

"Oh. I’m sorry."

Clark looked down at him and smiled the _Superman_ smile - the one that said everything would be okay. "I’m not."

Well, hey, if Clark wasn’t worried about it, neither was Dick. Besides, Dick could never truly be sorry for an event that had added so spectacularly to Dick’s fantasy life. "If that’s how he feels about it, how’d you get him to agree?"

"I gave us an alibi."

"What kind of alibi?"

"I’ll tell you later."

Well, that was fair enough. If Clark didn’t feel like telling him, Dick wasn’t going to press it. 

Clark rose above the clouds, and not for the first time, Dick marveled at the view - both of the scenery below and the man above. "It’s beautiful up here," he breathed in appreciation. 

Clark looked down at him. "It is, isn’t it?" The look on Clark’s face combined with his tone made Dick’s stomach do a quadruple backflip. For the very first time, Clark’s expression made it seem _possible_ that the things Dick lusted after could come true - that they weren’t fruitless figments of Dick’s overactive imagination. In that moment, Dick was both terrified at the enormity of what was being offered and thrilled at the greatness literally hanging onto his fingertips. 

The moment passed, but not soon enough that Dick didn’t know it had really happened. It was nearly as nice as having slept in Superman’s bed.

************

The arrival to Paris was a quick one, thought not nearly as quick as Clark could have flown and Dick was pretty sure that the slowness was for his benefit. The older man knew how much Dick loved to fly, how much Dick would have traded one of his senses in order to have that gift, and Dick was feeling special enough - as he always felt with Clark - to believe that Clark was adjusting his speed for Dick’s sake. It wasn’t a huge leap to make - that kind of considerateness was a very _Superman_ like thing to do. 

Flying with Clark was an entirely different experience than flying with anyone else. Dick had flown with Donna, Wonder Woman, and Hal Jordan before, and it had never felt _quite_ like this. Oh, sure, Dick supposed that it was at least fifty-five percent because of the way he feels about Clark, but it was something. . . else, too. Whereas the other superheros seemed to take the ability to fly almost for granted, Superman flew though the air with a joy and an ease that made Dick think that maybe, just maybe, The Man of Steel recognized how _very_ lucky he was to have been granted the greatest superpower of all and that he enjoyed it every bit as much as Dick would have, if he’d had the same power. 

Clark hadn’t bothered to ask Dick why he’d wanted to come to Paris, which was a welcome change of pace. With Bruce, Dick was used to having to give a detailed description of everything he wanted to do, along with a doctoral thesis worth of evidence as to _why_ it was necessary for his "personal development."

But Clark? Clark was perfectly willing to fly him to Paris just because Dick had asked. Dick couldn’t help but think that Clark trusted him in the way Bruce _didn’t_ and _should have,_ no matter how ungrateful, disloyal, and unfair the thought was.

They landed in an alley behind the bookstore Dick had came here for, and Dick waited the fraction of a second it took for Clark to change into his "street clothes." Fighting off the disappointment that surfaced when Clark’s civilian outfit turned out to be his reporter’s bulky clothes instead of the farm boy plaid, Dick asked, "Are we going investigating after we’re done shopping?"

"No. It’s more of a human interest piece," Clark answered. "Do you mind?"

"Nope." Of course he didn’t mind! The more time he could spend with Clark, the better. 

Of course, he couldn’t really say that part out loud. That settled, they went into the bookstore together. They were greeted by an owner who mistook Clark as Dick’s father, immediately making Dick hate him. 

Dick corrected the man, of course, and he explained why he was here. The stupid owner didn’t seem to understand what he was saying, and Dick was frustrated, because he didn’t think his French was _that_ bad.

Fortunately, there was a far less stupid woman working behind the counter with him. It was she who retrieved the book he’d came here for. 

When Clark saw the "Sherlock Holmes" on the cover, an expression of understanding came over his face. "A present?"

"Yeah. Father’s Day. One of the few he doesn’t have."

"Oh. You know, I always wondered if the two of you celebrated that holiday. I just couldn’t think of a tactful way to ask."

It was kind of sweet that Clark thought he could offend anyone. "We don’t make a big deal of it. It’s more of a ‘Paternal Figure Appreciation Day,’ anyway. With presents." And with visits to the graveyard for them both, but Dick didn’t mention that. Somehow, he didn’t think Clark could relate. 

Dick paid for the book, thanked the woman, pointedly ignored the owner, and they exited the store. He didn’t need superhearing to hear the woman telling the owner that the two nice boys were clearly lovers, thereby securing her spot in his heart as one of his favorite people on the planet. He also heard Clark chuckle, which Dick took as a good sign.

"So where are we going now?"

Clark handed him a camera that had, apparently, been stored in that voluminous jacket of his. "Now we are going to do some word on the street reporting. I hear you’ve passed the photography lessons Bruce gave you."

"Yeah." Because a good detective has to know how to take pictures of a crime scene, and if the photography lesson was obsessive, no one should have expected less from Bruce.

"Great. Then you can be my photographer."

"That doesn’t make me Jimmy Olsen, does it?" Dick didn’t think much of Jimmy Olsen. Not only was the guy a complete dork, but he also clung just a little too tightly to both Superman _and_ Clark Kent, and that wasn’t acceptable.

"Aw. Jimmy’s a good guy. I’m sure you’d like him if you got to know him better."

Was Clark trying to set him up, too? First Babs, then Roy, now Clark. The latter hurt far more than the former two, of course. But Dick couldn’t show that. "Sure. Maybe we could double date."

Clark laughed in the way that instantly transformed him into the farm boy of last summer. "But then I’d be stuck with Lois and what have I ever done to you to deserve that type of punishment?"

"Well, a threesome it is, then," Dick said cheerfully, fully understanding the implications of what he’d said, but saying it blithely enough that he could claim otherwise. Just in case.

The look that Clark gave him was the same one Clark had given when they’d been in flight and discussing the "scenery." "I don’t really like to share," he commented with an under current in his voice that Dick had never heard before. It made him shiver, half out of anticipation, half out of fear. "Are you ready?"  
  
_God, yes.  "_ Do I get a byline in The Planet?"

"Not as a photographer. But you will get a photographer’s credit."

"Let’s go, then."

_*********_

The realization of where they were headed hit Dick the minute the first, unmistakable smell of the circus - cotton candy, sweat, animal droppings, and hot dogs - hit his hose. He stopped cold.

"What’s wrong?" Clark asked, instantly in Superman mode. 

"I can’t." Dick didn’t want to whine. He didn’t want to be a disappointment. But he couldn’t help it. The memory of - 

"Scarecrow?" Superman’s voice was low and gentle.

"Yes."

"I know why you’re frightened, Dick, and I don’t blame you. But I also know how important the circus is to you. I’d hate for Scarecrow to have stolen that from you."

Dick wondered how much of this was Clark’s idea, and how much was Bruce’s idea. He wanted to know what kind of conversations they had, and how often he figured into those conversations. "This was our alibi, wasn’t it?"

"Yes. Dick, I won’t let anything bad happen."

He wouldn’t make Superman into a liar. Slowly, he nodded his consent. 

_*************_

To Dick’s surprise, he was actually enjoying himself. Between photo shots and word on the streets of Paris interviews, he and Clark viewed the sideshows, the freaks, and the magicians that would have made Zatanna cry. Even the animals were fun to watch, despite the runaway tigers of Scarecrow’s Toxin-induced fantasy. Dick and Clark feasted upon hot dogs, cotton candy, cheese stuffed pretzels, ginomous sized cheese burgers with everything but onions, pizza, and slushees. In short, they ate with the zeal of Templeton from Charlotte’s Web. 

Throughout it all, Dick did have a good time, with only the familiar sense of loss that he always felt when he thought about his parents shadowing his fun.

But when they made it to The Flying Gellars, all that changed. The ringmaster introduced the family as "the best aerialists in the world," and Dick instantly thought of his own parents. He thought of how they had been the best, and how their lives had been cut sort by a greedy, horrible man. Mostly, he thought of the Scarecrow Toxin and the dream it had induced. 

He couldn’t watch. What if history repeated itself? _What if they fell?_

He was about to leave when Clark’s hand slipped around his. "I won’t let them fall," Clark whispered. 

The assurance - and the hand - was enough. Superman wouldn’t let anything bad happen. The Flying Gellars would be okay.

Scarecrow _wouldn’t_ take the circus away from him.

As the aerialists flew through the air, Dick watched in appreciation of their successes and tried not to be critical of the slip-ups that only he saw anyway. Slowly, he felt the anxiety leave his system. 

But his hand never left Clark’s.

And Clark’s hand never left his.

_******_


	7. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The course of true love never did run smooth.

_"I do not question the good that Batman has done for our city. There is little doubt that Gotham needs a protector and Batman has certainly fulfilled the self appointed roll with aplomb. I do, however, question the "good" that come from embracing a "superhero" who systemically strips the city's criminals of their humanity by forcing them to fight, harm, and intend to kill a child. Given the methods our city's "hero" employs, Gotham's continuing moral decay should come as no surprise."_

The newspaper page in Dick's hand was wrinkled from previous crumpling, and after re-reading the editorial, Dick again crumpled the article. It was a futile act, but seeing that hunting down the writer in question and beating him senseless was out of the question, taking his frustrations out on the article in question seemed a perfectly reasonable response. After repeating the process of reading and crumpling twice more, Dick grew angry enough to throw the wad of paper across the room. He was on his way to retrieve it again, in order to _again_ repeat the process, when he heard a soft tapping on his door. The gentle knock was unmistakable. "Come on in, Alfred," he called.

Alfred entered, carrying a plate. "You did not come down for dinner, Master Richard," he chided gently. "I thought perhaps you might be hungry."

Dick eyed the plate and frowned. He must have been projecting his self pity mode if Alfred was feeling badly enough for him to bring him fried bologna and potato chips. Dick's favorite "comfort" food was generally frowned upon by both of the other residents of Wayne Manor. "Thanks, Alfred, but I'm really not hungry."

"No, I did not believe that you were, Master Richard. That does not preclude the necessity of eating."

With a sigh, Dick capitulated. It was bad enough that he was, apparently, letting the entire city down, but he didn't want to let Alfred down as well. "Fine. Just put it on the desk."

Alfred looked like he wanted to argue, and the memories of the many uneaten dishes he'd laid by Bruce's side over the years danced briefly over the older man's face. But in the end, he seemed to recognized Dick's statement for the compromise that it was and he reluctantly placed the plate on Dick's desk without further reprimand.

"If I may be so bold, young Master, may I suggest ringing one of your friends? Perhaps they will be able to convince you of the rubbishness of Mister Ryder's editorial, where myself and Master Bruce have failed."

Bruce would have actually needed to _try_ in order to fail, Dick suspected. Given that the man had done nothing more than glance at his copy of the editorial at breakfast that morning before leaving the Manor as Bruce Wayne, Millionaire Playboy, Dick didn't exactly think that counted as a _try._ But Dick flashed his best "everything is going to be fine, you don't need to worry" smile at Alfred and nodded. "I think I might, Alfred. Thanks."

In return to Dick's smile, Alfred gave a "why must my boys be so stubborn" sigh before informing Dick that, "Master Bruce has asked me to let you know that his business dealings will keep him out later than expected tonight. You are to wait here until he has returned before going out on patrol."

Dick waited for the door to shut behind Alfred before sitting down at his desk and smoothing out the article in question. Flopping down on the seat in front of his desk, Dick tried to reassure himself for the millionth time since breakfast that he had nothing to worry about. After all, Bruce wasn't worried. . . and Bruce didn't think the man had any validity to his argument whatsoever, so Dick really _shouldn't_ care about what some smarmy journalist had to say about their lives together. After all, it wasn't like it was as bad as the rumors about them sleeping together, or anything.

For the most part, Dick didn't _believe_ what Ryder claimed. Yet a tiny part of him - the part that wanted to be just as great of a superhero as Bruce and Clark - couldn't help but worry that it was true. The criminals of Gotham really did seem to be getting worse. . . not better. It seemed like every day there was a new type of creep vying for territory.

Dick knew he was good at his job, but. . . was Ryder's article really so far-fetched? Part of the reason for Bruce's _No Metas in Gotham_ policy was because he was afraid it would draw in more criminals to challenge the metas. It wasn't a huge leap of logic to believe that Robin's logic could have an affect on them, too. Or maybe it was. Dick wasn't entirely sure how he _supposed_ to feel.

He did know that discussing it with Bruce was out of the question. Batman had made it perfectly clear that the subject was closed and Dick wouldn't- _couldn't_ \- debate with him. The Titans were also out. Given the spectacular fashion with which they'd fizzled and were dying, Dick didn't think the reassurance that kid sidekicks worked would be honest advice that any of them were qualified to give. As for Babs, well, she didn't usually take his problems very seriously, even on the off occasion when she didn't manage to imply that they were _his_ fault.

There was, however, one man he could easily call. It was the man who Dick trusted not to laugh at him, and the one Dick knew would always have the answers. Clark would tell him the truth, no matter how harsh it was, because the only person who valued _truth_ more than Clark was Wonder Woman. If Ryder was right, like part of Dick thought he might be, Clark would tell him. If the mere notion of believing, even for a moment, that Ryder was right was as disloyal as Dick thought it was, Clark would tell him. If Dick was completely overreacting about the whole thing, _Clark would tell him._

__And regardless of which one of those scenarios were true, Clark wouldn't be disappointed in Dick.

Dick was fully aware that he was being clingy and probably needy, too. If he'd been calling anyone else, that might have bothered him, but as much as Clark was the farm boy that haunted his fantasies, he was also _Superman_ and therefore, Dick considered it perfectly acceptable to cling to the man. Thus, when he picked up the secure line to call Metropolis, the nerve- tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach was as far from fear as it could possibly be.

Clark picked up on the fifth ring. "Hello?"

"Um, hey." Dick paused for a minute, waiting for Clark to greet him with the same enthusiasm that had accompanied his last call. When it didn't come, Dick fought off the way of disappointment and continued with his question, because it was a much better alternative than the empty silence that stretched between them. "Have you read the _Gotham Times_ this morning?"

"Yes." The voice sounded curiously flat, for Clark. "You're calling about Jack Ryder's editorial?"

"Yeah. . . look, if you're busy, I can call another time."

There was an actual, honest to God _sigh_ on the other side of the phone. Farm boys might sigh. . . but _Clark_ didn't. Instantly, Dick was reminded that his little crush on Superman was one-sided. "I'm not busy, Dick. But I'm afraid I'm the last person who should ever give you advice on the subject of _humanity_."

"But you're _Superman."_

__There was a pause. "Yes. I am."

Dick honestly had no idea what to say. He was missing something, he knew that much. It felt very much like he was hearing a song from a record that had been scratched too many times. The melody was _there,_ but impossible to make out completely. "Is everything okay? You don't sound like -" _you want anything to do with me, and please don't let that be true -_ "yourself."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because, um, I might not be able to help, but I could get Bruce. . ." _If you'd rather have him._

__"That won't be necessary. Is there something you wanted?"

_Yes._ But Dick felt completely and utterly foolish for wanting anything connected to Superman at all. "It was nothing. I'll talk to you later, Superman."

Dick didn't say anything else before he hung up the phone, and while he strained to hear if Clark did, Dick didn't hear so much as a "goodbye" from the other man.

After hanging up, Dick carefully folded the editorial and placed it as far back into his desk drawer as he could. His sandwich and chips remained discarded on the desk as he launched into his workout routine. He spent the rest of the night, until Bruce came home from whatever errands he'd been running, working out his frustrations. But between each stretch, kick, and punch, Dick couldn't help but glance out his window in the hopes that Clark had realized how badly he'd hurt him. It was entirely possible that Clark would fly all the way to Gotham just to apologize.

But Clark never came.  
******  



	8. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark wasn't being an ass on purpose.

  
  
Most of the time, Dick really looked forward to the Labor Day Remembrance celebration at the Justice League Watchtower. The actual ceremony itself was somber, but the gathering together of most of Earth's heroes to honor those who had fallen was always an event Dick looked forward to, in part because of the sheer number of superheros present. Geeking out to the likes of Wonder Woman and The Flash was several magnitudes of great, as was the continual argument between Green Lantern and Green Arrow over the "justice" of choosing Labor Day to honor the dead, as opposed to the celebration of workers Green Arrow insisted the holiday was supposed to celebrate.

His usual jubilation was severely mutated for several reasons this year, however. Firstly, the Titans had always claimed a table of their own - _not the kiddie table_ , regardless of what Booster Gold claimed - and given their recent split and the drifting of some of their members into "retirement," Dick wasn't sure if any of them would actually even show up. Babs and Bruce were still coming, but without the Titans, the celebration would feel empty somehow.

Then, of course, there was the matter of Superman.

Only a week had passed since the editorial had come out in _The Gotham Times_ , and the accompanying phone call that still made Dick hurt all over when he thought about it. 

Immediately following the phone call, Dick had been, well, angry at Superman. Whenever Dick had taken time out to consider all the times Superman had sworn that he'd never be too busy to lend an ear or . . .well, too busy to be Dick's friend, which, from the tone of the call, Dick had deduced definitely didn't describe their relationship, it angered him. It would have been one thing if Superman had never given him the time of day, but _he had,_ and part of Dick couldn't help but feel like he'd been strung along. It was an entirely new sensation for Dick, as the childhood hero worship that had grown into something more - on Dick's end, anyway - had prevented Dick from ever feeling angry at Superman. He hadn't liked it. Having a negative thought about Superman felt as unnatural as having the same type thought about Batman. In fact, Dick wasn't sure it wasn't more unnatural, because Bruce encouraged negativity. Batman mostly thought it was a useful tool in The Mission. But Superman thrived on the positive. . . at least, when Superman wasn't being hounded by twerpy little sidekicks who held unrealistic expectations about a man who was incapable of loving him back.  
  
Maybe it was the sheer of unnaturalness of the feeling that had made it so fleeting, despite its intensity. Whatever the cause, the anger Dick had carried towards Superman had rather quickly given way to feelings of _embarrassment_ \- that he'd ever seen something in Superman's gaze that hadn't been there- and all encompassing _disappointment_ that could only come from someone stupid enough to ever believe that someone like Superman could ever want someone as ordinary as Dick Grayson. Really, between the varying degrees of self pity, Dick didn't have room inside him to be angry at Superman.  
  
And. . . Dick would admit that, on certain occasions, such as when his alarm clock had awoken him with the sound of The Morning Farm Report, that a different type of emotion affected him entirely. He refused to give a name to that emotion, out of a desperate hope that doing so would make it disappear entirely, because it was by far the strongest of any of the responses he'd had to that phone call.  
  
Dick wasn't certain what emotion would rise to the surface by the time he saw Superman again, but he really wasn't looking forward to it.  
  
********  
  
As was typical, Bruce was delayed in coming to The Watchtower, due to a necessary Labor Day appearance at Wayne Enterprises. Normally, that meant that Robin would go with Superman, but for whatever reason, that wasn't even an option this year. The lack of an escort couldn't have be3en because of the phone call, as Dick would have gladly cut off his own tongue before ever telling Bruce about _that._  
  
Dick briefly entertained the notion that Superman was as equally inconvenienced with Batman as he'd been with Dick. For the entire two minutes that he'd deluded himself into believing that, Dick was reassured. But his happiness was short lived, as he considered the very real possibility that Superman's decision not to escort him to the Watchtower had more to do with Superman's annoyance at _him._ It was a much more likely scenario and therefore the one Dick settled on as being the reason.  
  
Still, despite Bruce's delay and Superman's no-show, Dick wasn't going to the Celebration alone. Batman had grudgingly agreed to extend the invitation to Batgirl this year. It was her first time in The Watchtower and her geeky enthusiasm for the technical aspects of the Watchtower might have amused him, had he been in anything resembling a good mood.  
  
As it turned out, his mood was apparently transparent. After fifteen minutes of his attention drifting between Oliver Queen's diatribes that could be heard from across the room and Babs' geeky wonderment beside him, the latter punched him - rather hard - in the shoulder.  
  
"Ow. What was that for?"  
  
"Proving my theory," Babs replied smoothly, between bites of cake.  
  
"What theory is that?"  
  
"That whoever you're looking for has you so befuddled that I could get in a good hit before you'd even notice."  
  
"I'm not _looking_ for anyone."  
  
Babs gave him the look she gave him a lot, the one that suggested that he wasn't overly bright. "Whatever you say, Boy Wonder."  
  
"I'm _not,"_ Dick lowered his eyes and glared at the table, in an effort to advert his obvious searching. He just hoped Bruce would hurry the hell up _so they could go._  
  
Babs rolled her eyes. "Right. I must have completely made up the whole 'frantically searching the crowd' thing that you're doing."  
  
"Yes, you _must have."_  
  
She raised an eyebrow at his tone and he felt miserable. It wasn't _her_ fault he'd been so foolish, no more than it was Superman's. Dick was perfectly aware that he had no one to blame but himself for his predicament. "Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to snap."  
  
She shrugged. "'Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.'"  
  
"What?"  
  
"James Baldwin," she answered, as though that clarified anything, taking another bite of her cake.  
  
"Why would you quote. . . never mind. Why'd you get the Italian flag cake? You're not from Italy." Dick was painfully aware of how pathetic his attempt to change the subject was. He hoped it would work, nonetheless.  
  
"Italy's flag is prettier than ours," Babs explained, giving him hope that it had worked. "Besides, I earned a look of disapproval from Green Lantern. Do you think that makes me a bad person that I _enjoyed_ that?"  
  
"I think it puts you in the same league as Green Arrow."  
  
Babs wrinkled her nose. "Ew. . .on the other hand, the blond woman sitting between the two? I wouldn't mind being in _her_ league."  
  
Was that a leer? No, Babs didn't _leer_ at people. Clearly, his hormones were out of control when he was able to imagine _other_ people lusting when they certainly were not. If there'd ever been any reason to think otherwise, it was clear now that he was hopeless. "That's Black Canary."  
  
"I thought she was older."  
  
"You're thinking of the first one."  
  
"Ah. So was it Speedy?"  
  
Dick frowned and tried, for a whole 65 seconds, to figure out what Babs was talking about. He even scanned the room, looking for the redhead, even though he knew that Roy was off with his crappy band that he'd chosen over being in the Titans. ". . . Is _who_ Speedy?"  
  
"The person you were looking for? Because _I_ didn't think he was your type, but your groupies on the internet are seventy-five percent sure there's something going on between the two of you."  
  
Dick laid his head down on the table. Not only did his real life suck, but his sexuality was apparently obvious to all, regardless of the fact that it should have been _his_ decision to share that information. Not only that, but the same people who thought his sex life. . . or lack thereof. . . should be freely discussed felt perfectly justified in discussing _exactly_ whom he was dating. While Dick was certainly glad that they had no idea who the true object of his obsession was. . . _had been,_ that thought wasn't enough to make him feel any better. Finding a nice hole on the other side of the planet to hide in might do it, though.  
  
He was in the middle of contemplating exactly how long it would take Bruce to find him when he felt a distinct non-Babs tap on the shoulder. Raising his head, he was confronted with both an amused look from Babs and the far more important "there is business to do" look from _Wonder Woman._  
  
Instantly, Dick sat up straight. If there was any of the superhero community that Dick held in as high esteem as he did Bruce and Superman, it was the woman standing in front of him. She was nearly as smart as Bruce, practically as strong as Superman, and was a comfortable median between the two in terms of niceness.  
  
"Batgirl, Robin," she greeted, "I trust you are enjoying the festivities?"  
  
Dick nodded, because despite lying to Wonder Woman being a pretty awful thing to do, it wasn't as though he could moan about his problems too her. While she might have been sympathetic to his stupidity, Dick wasn't overly certain that she wouldn't have been _surprised._ "I'm glad to hear it. We're going to need Superman for the dedication part of the ceremony and I have other tasks which require my attention. Would you mind summoning him for me, Robin?"  
  
_Oh, anything but that._ "Can't you use the League communicators?"  
  
To her credit, Wonder Woman didn't actually come out and _say_ that she thought he was a moron. "He's turned his communicator off and while there is the option of using the intercom," she took a minute to cast a glare in the direction of Green Arrow and Green Lantern, "I believe that would disrupt the solemnity befitting this occasion."  
  
Well, that was a fair point. "Okay." He didn't _want to,_ and he was never, ever coming to the Watchtower again, but this was _Wonder Woman,_ so it's not as thought he had a whole lot of choice, did he?  
  
Babs stood up when he did, as though she was going to come with him, and Dick would have appreciated the company, but Wonder Woman stopped him by gently laying a hand on Batgirl's shoulder. "I could use your assistance elsewhere."  
  
Dick was _really_ never coming the Watchtower again. _Ever. "_ Okay, then. Do you know where he went?"  
  
Wonder Woman shook her head. "He's not had . . .a very good month. Perhaps you should try the botany bay."  
  
_He's_ not had a good month? "Um, okay, then." He turned to Babs before he left. "Um, if Batman shows up while I'm gone -"  
  
Babs waved her hand, "I'll let Wonder Woman deal with him," she replied, "Also, Boy Wonder?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
" 'A bird came down the walk, He did not know I saw.' "  
  
"What does _that_ mean?" As Babs grinned at him, Wonder Woman cleared her throat in the manner that demanded to know why he hadn't gone to retrieve the Man of Steel yet.  
  
That made him feel pretty guilty, which is why, when Babs mouthed, "It's Emily Dickinson," he completely ignored her and left to make his way to find Superman.  
*********  
  
Superman was in the botany bay, just as Wonder Woman had suggested. He was sitting on a bench among a row of orchids and cupping a small lily in his hands. Clark-No, _Superman,_ Dick corrected his brain, just as he had been during every day for the past week whenever he'd thought of the other man. After all, Superman belonged to _everyone,_ and therefore it was perfectly reasonable that Dick's thoughts spent so much time thinking about him. _Clark,_ on the other hand, was the name of the man that Dick had fooled himself into believing was his.  
  
In any event, _Superman_ looked exactly like he _hadn't_ had a very good month, or life, for that matter. He looked so utterly depressed that Dick felt remorseful for having had the audacity to be _angry_ at the other man.  
  
_Maybe he wasn't annoyed with you,_ The delusional, but optimistic portion of his brain offered. _Maybe whatever he's upset about is why he wasn't in the mood to talk._  
  
The sane, pessimistic part of his brain immediately answered back. _Didn't you learn your lesson in getting your hopes up?_  
  
Dick shook his head, in order to clear out both voices, because he needed to concentrate on exactly what the proper protocol for a depressed Superman was. He'd never actually _seen_ Superman depressed, so Dick didn't have any of their previous interactions to use as a guide. While it was possible that he could merely walk up, relay Wonder Woman's message and leave, that didn't seem fair. All week long, Dick had been reviewing the times he'd whined to Superman and the ease with which the older man had listened. The mental review had made him feel like a fool at the time, but now, faced with Superman's sadness, it seemed only fair to try to imitate the sounding board that the older man had been so many times before.  
  
But the sane, pessimistic part of his brain shook its head at his stupidity and calmly reminded Dick that Superman hadn't been interested in talking to him before. Regardless of _why,_ there was no real reason to suspect that anything had changed in _that_ department, was there?  
  
Dick was still hanging back in the doorway when Superman glanced up in his direction. "Dick, are you going to come in or are you going to stay in the doorway?"  
  
The flatness of Superman's voice nearly made him blurt out Wonder Woman's summons and run. It was identical to the voice that had broken Dick's heart over the telephone a week prior. But it was combined with the face that Dick hadn't been able to see over the telephone - one that was not only clearly depressed but terribly unsure.  
  
Since Dick _couldn't_ have been the cause of either of those emotions, the tiny glimmer of hope that had been dancing around in the back of his head since Wonder Woman had first told Dick that Superman had been having a bad day grew, despite Dick's best efforts to prevent it from doing so. It was for this reason that Dick walked with deliberate casualness into the room. "Is everything okay?"  
  
Superman didn't answer him immediately and Dick was stuck between the fear that Superman really wanted him to leave and the concern about whatever it was that was clearly bothering the other man. Eventually, Superman looked down at the lily in his hand. "Everything's fine, Dick."  
  
Unfortunately, Dick had several years worth of practice at pretending that everything was fine, so he saw right through Superman's claim. Still, out right arguing with the man wasn't something he'd gained the right to yet, so he carefully commented, "Are you sure? Because you look a little upset and . . .um, Wonder Woman kind of mentioned that you weren't having the best month."  
  
Superman squeezed one of the petals between his large fingers until the substance began to crumble from the sheer force. Though he wasn't entirely certain why, Dick's concern for Superman grew as the white powder from the flower dropped down on to the legs of his costume. "Diana must be pretty worried about me if she's sending in reinforcements," Superman commented as his hand fell down into his lap, near the crumbled petal, but refusing to wipe away the remnants.  
  
Despite himself, Dick was rather pleased at the idea that Wonder Woman might possibly think enough of him to _allow_ him to be reinforcements. He hadn't considered her request quite in that fashion.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it? I mean, I'm not sure I can help -" _But I want to. I want to give you a reason never to not want to talk to me again._ "Um, but I can listen. I can listen really well. Sometimes that helps." _And sometimes I babble like an idiot,_ Dick thought in despair.  
  
"I wouldn't want to. . .it's not fair to burden you with my problems."  
  
"Why not? You're my-" Dick's tongue thankfully stopped moving when he couldn't remember exactly what the right word was. Friend? Biggest Crush? Second Favorite Superhero? Mentor's Friend? Mentor's _former lover?_ "I burden you all the time with my problems." _And until last Monday, I never suspected that you minded._ "It's only fair if you let me return the favor."  
  
Superman fixed him with a look that Dick really and truly couldn't read, despite every lesson in body language he'd received. Then he moved marginally to the left and tapped the bench beside him. It took every ounce of willpower in Dick's body not to run over to the bench to sit beside him.  
  
Dick curled his legs underneath him, the way he used to when Mom and Dad had been practicing a routine and made watch, because he sensed that this was going to take a while.  
  
"I visited an old friend last week," Superman said, eventually, and the sentence sounded like a confession in and of itself, though that didn't make any sense. "He was getting married. Again. The friend. . . he's not very fond of Superman."  
  
"He doesn't know your secret identity, then?"  
  
"No. We knew each other in Smallville, but. . . I was his best man at his first two weddings, you know."  
  
_Then why doesn't he know who you are?_ That seemed kind of odd. "Was it a nice wedding?"  
  
"It was a very beautiful ceremony. The bride carried orchids and the tables were decorated with lilies. We didn't talk a lot. He did manage to get in several digs about that 'cold alien who knows nothing about what it means to be human,' though."  
  
_But I'm afraid I'm the last person who should ever give you advice on the subject of humanity_. Dick mentally kicked himself for not noticing Superman's mood earlier. Was he really that self absorbed? Still, part of Dick couldn't help but rejoice in knowing that Superman really _hadn't_ been disgusted with _him._ His joy, of course, really did mean that he _was_ self absorbed.  
  
"That's why you're upset?" Dick ventured. "Because, that's just silly. You're more human than 95% of the people born here."  
  
Superman glanced up and a brief grin pulled at his face before he shook his head. "The following week I ran into my old friend again, this time as Superman. He was sporting a type of Kryptonite. . .You've read all the files that Batman has on Krytonite, haven't you?"  
  
"Um, yeah."  
  
"When you get home, I want you to read them again, Dick. It's very important that you do, in case I ever. . ." Superman paused and took a deep breath. The shoulders that could easily lift mountains shuddered under a weight that was apparently far greater. "Red Kryptonite that strips away everything but my Id. You've studied that, haven't you?"  
  
"Yep. So anything you wanted to do or say you just did - without any thought of the consequences?"  
  
Superman stared down at him. "Or anything I wanted to _have."_  
  
A little shiver tap danced along Dick's spine at the way Superman spoke the word "have." He was still trying to process all the possible meanings it could have when Superman's voice spoke again, in a broken fashion that had more in common with the crumpled lily in his hand than the suit he wore. "I was on my way to _Gotham."_  
  
A very large piece of the puzzle sank into place. "To see Batman?"  
  
Superman's hands clasped together tightly in response to the question. The act decimated the flower in the man's hands and from the slight way they shook, Dick took his answer to be "No." It drove Dick crazy with the desire to detract from the story line enough to ask Superman _who_ he'd come to Gotham to have, but this conversation wasn't about him. "You didn't make it," he observed casually, despite the colony of butterflies swinging on the trapeze in his stomach. "What happened to delay you?"  
  
"Diana and Green Lantern. She was able to stop me because I stopped long enough to . . . " Those shoulders shook again. "On the way to Gotham, I almost killed someone, Dick. My hands were around Green Lantern's throat and if her lasso and tiara hadn't been made from magic, he'd be dead _by my hand._ Not to mention what else I might have done."  
  
Dick didn't mention that the man's throat appeared to be fine, judging from the shouting match over the life history of Samuel Gompers that Green Lantern had been involved in with Green Arrow. "So, that's why you're upset?" At that point, Superman gave him a look that Babs would have been proud of, so Dick decided to elaborate. "You were affected with Kryptonite that takes away your ability to have a conscience, and as a result you gave into lust and anger, right?"  
  
"Yes, but -"  
  
"Super- _Clark,"_ Dick paused long enough to let the word get reacquainted with his tongue. "Clark, that hardly puts you out of touch with _humanity._ They may not be the prettier sides of humanity, but lust, possession, anger, those are all part of what _makes_ us human. The thugs we beat up every night? They represent the very worst our planet has to offer, but they're just as much part of what makes up _humanity_ as the Martin Luthor Kings or the the Mother Theresas."  
  
"I'm not so sure your mentor would agree with you."  
  
_He isn't here. Would you rather him be?_ Dick took careful note that Clark's hands had come unclasped and some of the tension had left his shoulders. Dick took it as a sign that he really wasn't rambling on without purpose like he'd feared. "It sucks," he continued, "But all the Red K did was show that you're perfectly in tune with our less admirable traits. And since you consistently make Saints feel inadequate in the virtue department, the combination of the superiority of your every day superego and the id that lurks below should make it perfectly obvious that your 'friend' is full of crap about his 'cold alien out of touch with humanity' nonsense."  
  
The other man was almost smiling now. "You think so?"  
  
"Well, I don't have a scientific test to _prove_ it, or anything. But from where I'm sitting, you look as human on the inside as you do on the outside."  
  
Clark _did_ smile then. It wasn't as bright as Dick was accustomed to, nor did it quite reach the eyes, but the blanket of depression that Clark had wrapped himself in had mostly fallen to the floor of the botany bay. Most impressively of all, when he spoke, his voice no longer had that flat tone that had hurt Dick so badly a week before. "Thank you, Dick."  
  
"No problem. Though, I gotta say, you might want to get some new friends. Because yours kind of suck."  
  
A brief shadow passed over Clark's face and Dick worried that he'd said the wrong thing. But the shadow was gone, and Clark was shaking his head slightly. "I don't know. I think I have a few pretty good ones. That is, presuming you still want me as your friend now that you know the bad as well as the good?"  
  
_Presuming I still want you? God, do you have any idea?_ "You think I only wanted-" _to have you "_ -to be your friend when I thought you were perfect?"  
  
Clark bit his lower lip and nodded slowly. "We usually . . . interact as _Superman_ and Robin," he said, so tentatively that a passing stranger would have been forgiven if they actually thought Clark was the one with the silly little crush.  
  
_Don't be dumb, Dick. And while you're at it, quit jumping to conclusions._ "Do you remember when I visited your family's farm last summer?" When Clark nodded, Dick continued, "You stepped backwards into a pile of cow poop. At the time, the sight of _Superman_ stepping into a pile of cow poop was pretty funny, and well, it still is, kinda, but it was the first time-" _That I thought it might be possible to be in the same league of people you might want someday "-_ that I realized you weren't actually as perfect as I thought you were. I'm still very proud that my friend is one of the two greatest superheros on the planet, but everytime I hear about one of Superman's exploits, I can't help but think about Clark Kent, farm boy, stepping into a pile of well, poop."  
  
The grin came back full force then. It was as brilliant as the sun, and frankly, Dick wasn't sure it wasn't just as hot, because that smile melted several of his bones into a massive pile of goo. When Clark's hand reached up and hovered over his shoulder before finally coming to rest on his chin, the touch added several of his internal organs to the "parts that were melted" tally. If it hadn't been for the firmness with which Clark tilted Dick's chin and the contrasting gentleness with which Clark's thumb stroked - _stroked? This is a dream. It clearly has to be._ \- his cheek, Dick might have believed that he was completely melted all together.  
  
"Thank you, Dick. I'm very glad you told me that. It . . .was something I needed to know."  
  
"Yeah? The poop story helping with humanity thing?"  
  
Clark laughed and the grip on Dick's chin meant that his body shook right along with Clark's. Oh, yes, that was a memory to be filed away and recalled for later. Dream or no dream. _Please don't be a dream._  
  
"No, I needed to hear it for entirely different reasons." Clark let go of his chin and as his hand stopped stroking Dick's face, Dick became painfully aware of his internal organs' decision to re-solidify themselves, as his heart bitterly thumped against his ribcage out of the sense of disappointment at the loss of Clark's touch. "You know. . . my friend spent some time in that barn. I might tell you that story sometime."  
  
"Yeah, why not now?" _And why not put your hand back on my face? Because that was really nice._  
  
Clark clapped him on the shoulder, which really wasn't as good as Dick's face at all. "It's the kind of story that has to wait 560 days. Besides, I believe we have a dedication ceremony that we need to attend."  
  
Dick flushed when he realized he had completely forgotten his original reason for coming here. It was a good thing for him that Wonder Woman didn't kill people, because the urge for her to do so had to be pretty high. But as he started to turn, Clark's grasp on his shoulder held him back. "What is it?"  
  
"About last week. . .when you called I wasn't nearly as good of a friend as you were to me tonight. I'm sorry about that."  
  
Despite the fact that Dick didn't have words to describe how happy he was to hear Clark validate the hurt he'd had over the phone call, Dick didn't let it show. "Oh, it wasn't anything important. Don't worry about it."  
  
"It was important to you."  
  
"It's just. . . the editorial kind of hurt, you know? And Bruce was being completely oblivious about it." _And I just wanted you to tell me that I don't make things worse._  
  
"He's not being oblivious, Dick. At least, not this time. He's just not going to let some opportunistic idiot tell him how to deal with the relationship between him and his partner."  
  
"You don't think he might be right?" Dick didn't want to ask it, and he didn't mean to sound whiny, but he _needed_ to ask.  
  
Clark caught his gaze. "I was worried when Bruce first took on a new partner, Dick, especially one so young. You've proved me wrong at every juncture by consistently becoming a better hero with each day that passes. Gotham is a _better_ city because you exist, because you bring light to Batman's dark. Besides, someone told me once that the thugs were a natural part of humanity. You don't think that person was lying, do you?"  
  
Dick grinned. "Nope. That's some pretty good advice."  
  
"I thought so. Now, let's go before Flash eats all of the cakes."  
  
They walked out together, and Dick took it as a terrific sign that everything was better with both of them that his overactive imagination was able to believe, for just a fraction of a second, that Clark was walking closer to him than he had before. It was a thought that made him very happy for the rest of the day, even when he saw Batman's disapproving scowl and had to deal with Batgirl's random quotes that continued to make no sense.  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark have a chat about Dick's crush. It doesn't go well.

  
  
  
Contrary to what some people possibly believed, Bruce liked seeing Dick happy. Dick was his _son_ and his _partner_. Very little brought Bruce as much joy as seeing his ward's trademark face-splitting grin. Ascertains of some of Bruce's contemporaries that Robin was more useful to Batman if they were both miserable were simply ridiculous. Unfortunately, part of being Dick's guardian meant that Bruce had to look out for the younger member of the Wayne household when Dick was unable to do so for himself. Part of that duty, no matter how distasteful, entailed noting when Robin had gotten in over his head. That obligation didn't end when uniform came off.

Simply put, Dick was becoming too attached to Clark. Convinced as he was that Dick would never see reason in this matter, Bruce took advantage of one slow Tuesday afternoon to fly to Metropolis.  
  
During his flight, Bruce couldn't help but think of how easy it was to spot how Dick felt for Clark. The pure joy that spread over Dick's face whenever Superman was around and the easy camaraderie that had been settled between the two of them were the big qualifiers of Dick's feelings. But the biggest clue was the trust Dick had for Clark. Bruce's ward had learned enough from Batman to know that trust wasn't to be divulged readily. Although Dick still befriended and entrusted his life to far too many hands, no one outside of The Manor had earned the same level of trust that Clark had. To a point, that level of faith was understandable. It was, after all, _Clark Kent_. Once, back when Bruce hadn't known better, he'd had similar feelings towards the man. Those feelings were irrelevant now, but having experienced them firsthand, Bruce knew they were dangerous. More importantly, they proved to Bruce that the relationship he'd chosen to believe was a mere infatuation was far more to Dick.  
  
If that was all that there had been to it - an unrequited love on Dick's behalf - there wouldn't have been any need to intervene. In the beginning, Bruce was sure that's all it had been. Clark wouldn't have fallen for a thirteen year old _child,_ nor would he have wanted someone who so obviously idolized Superman. But at sixteen, Dick gave the outward appearance of being an adult, and their closeness at the Labor Day Remembrance Celebration had made it loud and clear that something had changed between the two of them. Bruce was certain that it hadn't been physical - it was _Clark,_ after all - but whatever it was had been momentous enough to make Clark forget that, despite appearances to the contrary, Dick was _still_ a child.  
  
Clark needed to be reminded of that.  
****  
  
Apparently, Tuesdays in Metropolis weren't as tranquil as the ones in Gotham. But it wasn't Batman's city, so Bruce contented himself in Clark's apartment while he awaited for Superman's business to be over.  
  
It hadn't changed much. The furniture was newer, there was more clutter, and the floor tile had been replaced with carpet. But the decor was still the bright, primary colors that screamed his identity to anyone with half a brain, and pictures of loved ones still lined the walls and majority of the surface space. Bruce scanned the photos and took note of two things. First, there wasn't a picture of Dick anywhere in the apartment. That was a positive development. Secondly, there was only one picture of Bruce and Clark. It had been taken by Jimmy Olsen at a charity function two years before Dick had entered their lives. They'd still been together at the time, though no one could tell by the Reporter and Billionaire Masks they wore in the photo.  
  
There used to be more intimate photos here. But Bruce wasn't going to think of that now. Because what had happened in the past between the two of them had no bearing on why he was here today. Today was about _Dick's_ well-being.  
  
Still, despite himself, Bruce was pleased that _El Mundo Perdido_ still sat on Clark's bookshelf. It had been a present from himself to Clark early in their relationship and though Clark didn't care for the story, it remained not only in his possession, but prominently on display. That was important to Bruce not because of the implications of a relationship long since dead, but rather, because it told him that by coming here today, he wasn't ruining any chance of happiness that Dick might have in the future. If Dick truly wanted a future with this man _once he was an adult_ then all he'd have to do was ask, because Clark Kent didn't stop loving you once he started.  
  
Something good might as well come out of that. . . someday.  
  
Bruce was sliding _El Mundo Perdido_ back into its proper slot on Clark's bookshelf when he heard the glass windows open, announcing Superman's arrival. Bruce stepped out of the shadows late afternoon sunlight pouring from the windows as Clark stepped into the apartment.  
  
Superman acknowledged his presence with a smile and a tip of his head, even as he headed to the bedroom to change his clothes. "I wasn't expecting you, Bruce. Is everything okay?"  
  
Bruce waited until the man was completely changed before he answered. It wasn't his usual method of cutting to the chase, but the last . . .hurtful conversation he'd had with the man had been while Clark had been in the Superman costume, and somehow it felt wrong to have this one with the same persona. As ridiculous as it was, having the conversation with Superman would have felt like there was a connection between the two conversations, and it was important for that not to be true. Besides, Bruce would readily take every advantage he could to win the argument, and if it meant appealing to Clark's farm boy upbringing, then he was certainly willing to do so.  
  
Noticing Bruce's hesitation, Clark came back into the living room with his head tilted. "Bruce? What's wrong?" Clad in a pair of jeans and a Smallville University t-shirt, the man looked years younger than the superhero that saved the planet every day, and . . . Bruce forced his mind away from that train of thought and focused on _Dick._  
  
"It needs to stop."  
  
" _What_ needs to stop?"  
  
"This _thing_ between you and Dick."  
  
Bruce watched Clark's face carefully. Before the other man spoke, his expression wavered between guilt and indignation. Bruce pointedly ignored the latter and filed the former away as a possible ally in this conversation, should he need it.  
  
"What _thing_ exactly?"  
  
"Don't play stupid with me, Kent." Bruce couldn't help but note that neither of them were moving. This was a conversation between enemies - with Superman standing his ground on one side of the room and Batman holding his ground on the other side. Clark's ridiculous red couch lied between them and Bruce tried not to notice the red, blue, and _green_ throw pillows that adorned it. _Those_ were new.  
  
" _Bruce."_ Clark fell back upon his first name, in an effort to make the conversations between friends. It would have been nice if that was possible, but it simply wasn't the right tone for this conversation. "I presume you're talking about Dick's crush?"  
  
"No. I don't have a problem with a child's crush. I have a problem with someone who is _supposed_ to be a responsible adult perpetuating that crush."  
  
Again came the look of indignation. "I don't know _exactly_ what you think is going on, Bruce, but I've never touched-"  
  
"And we can thank Diana and Hal for that, can't we?"  
  
The indignation faded and hurt joined guilt on the always too-expressive face. Bruce tried to feel triumphant about that, but something kept him from doing so. He told himself that he was merely frustrated that in all the years Clark had been fighting crime, he'd never learned the importance of keeping a good poker face. Any and _all_ of Superman's enemies would be willing to use that against him.  
  
"Bruce. . . you know I would never purposely do anything to hurt Dick."  
  
"But you _are_ hurting him and you can't blame it on the Red Kryptonite." The Red Kryptonite in question was irrelevant to the conversation as a whole, but with Dick's happiness on the line, Bruce wasn't willing to pull any punches. If he had to emotionally knock Clark down in order to make him see reason, he was willing to do that.  
  
"What are you talking about?" A hint of frustration, Bruce noted, but it was still heavily overshadowed by the guilt and hurt.  
  
"You've let Dick believe there's a possibility of a relationship between the two of you."  
  
"Not until-"  
  
"It doesn't matter when! He's _sixteen,_ Clark. It's not healthy for him to be pining over one man to the exclusion of all others."  
  
Clark crossed his arms in the condescending Superman pose he was known for, and Bruce merely gritted his teeth. He didn't want Clark to be stubborn about this. It would only make his job more difficult in the long run. "Is that what this is about?" Clark demanded. "You're upset because Dick isn't following you down the path of 'love 'em and leave 'em' quite the way you'd hoped?"  
  
Well, it was only fair to expect your enemy to return your punches, wasn't it? " _No."_  
  
"Really? Because that's what it sounds like. God, Bruce, haven't you taught him enough? When did you decide that he needed to follow your example in how to be miserable too? I thought you wanted a better life for him than the one you had?"  
  
He did want that for Dick. Which was why he was here, and why, if Dick were two years older, he would have let their relationship continue without interruption. "Clark, what kind of social life did you have when you were sixteen?"  
  
The frown deepened, showing Clark's confusion. Batman saw the opening and continued his strike. "Did you date? Did you go out with people you were attracted to? Because that seems like the kind of _normal_ life you're so keen on Dick having. Yet you're the only thing standing in the way of him having that life."  
  
Clark's expression changed again, and Bruce knew it was a sign that Clark was examining every act he'd ever committed in front of Dick in an effort to see if what Bruce was saying was true. Superman's greatest blind spot had always been his fear of the ones he loved most getting hurt. More than one supervillian had taken advantage of that tendency, and Bruce wondered what it made him that he was using it to his advantage now.  
  
But Batman didn't hesitate. "He's closed himself off from the possibility of loving anyone else, because he wants to be free when you beckon. His teenage years are slipping by and he's placed his sexual development on pause until you're ready to collect. That's not fair for him, is it?"  
  
"No." Clark's voice was small and Bruce focused on _the mission at hand_ in order to prevent his mind from remembering the last time it had sounded so lost. "What. . . what do you think I should do?"  
  
"What's best for Dick. You need to make it clear that nothing is going to happen between you. I don't care how you do it - date someone else, send us an invitation to your wedding, tell him you're straight."  
  
The hands fell down to Clark's side. "I'm pretty sure he knows the last part isn't true. And the first two would break his heart."  
  
"I guess you'll have to decide which would hurt him more: loosing you or loosing important social developments _because_ of you."  
  
"I. . . Dick's supposed to accompany me to The Haunted Barn in Smallville the week before Halloween. I'll . . .break the news to him then."  
  
That was over a month away. It shouldn't be acceptable, but maybe in a month's time Clark would learn how to grow some semblance of a believable story. Maybe it'd also be enough time for Bruce to figure out how to deal with Dick's inevitable grief. "Fine. As long as you're willing to do what you have to. Dick deserves the chance to see if there's someone he'd rather have than Superman."  
  
"Yes, he does."  
  
"But Clark, if you don't . . .if after October he's still following you around like a neutered little puppy, I'll bring this up to him. Don't make me force him to chose between us."  
  
Neither hurt, nor guilt, nor indignation was strong enough to overcome the anger that spread over Clark's face. "You'd _do_ that to him?"  
  
"Are you going to make me?"  
  
"No. I'd never put Dick in that position." Clark leaned up against the wall, his large hands spread flat, as though they were looking for support. The look of defeat that crossed his face told Batman that he'd won. His opponent was down and he didn't have to punch anymore.  
  
He should be getting back to Gotham. But as Batman's hand touched the sliding glass door, Bruce suddenly found it imperative to mention, "Clark. . . this is for Dick's own good. None of it has anything to do with . . . us."  
  
"I know. It was far too important to you to have anything to do with us." Batman didn't wince, but Bruce knew there was something else that should have been said, something that would keep the focus on _Dick,_ where it belonged, and not _on them,_ where it didn't belong. Clark ended his dilemma by saying softly, "I'll see you in October, Bruce."  
  
It was a dismissal. Bruce acknowledged it as such and departed from Clark's apartment.  
  
Leaping off Clark's balcony, he fled the dwindling sunshine of Metropolis in favor of the familiar, comforting shadows of his own city.  
*********  



	10. By Tender Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick discovers it is possible to break up with someone without ever having dated them in the first place.

  
In the weeks leading up to Halloween, Dick's anticipated return to Smallville for the infamous Haunted Barn celebration was marred by the litany of potential interferences that continually ran through Dick's mind. All holidays were busy ones in Gotham, Halloween particularly so, and the part of his mind that had been so very studiously trained by Batman refused to believe that the night he was supposed to spend in Smallville wouldn't be interrupted by the antics of one of Gotham's frequent Arkham outbreaks. Dick wanted to spend that Tuesday night in Smallville, adding to the ever-growing list of Clark fantasies that had long since taken over his childish Superman fantasies, but part of him _knew_ that the evening wouldn't go as he'd hoped.  
  
As had been the case many times in Dick's life since becoming Robin, Halloween did not go as expected. There were no Gotham problems, no calls from the ever-dwindling Titans, nor even a call from the Justice League requesting Batman and Robin’s help to prevent Dick from spending Halloween with Clark in Smallville.  
  
On Tuesday night, Clark showed up at his window right on time. Clark smiled down at the Speedy ensemble that Dick had chosen for his costume. It wasn't an exact replica of the original, of course, as Robin's secret required Dick Grayson to not ever have been close enough to have seen Roy Harper's costume in person. For that reason, Dick's Speedy costume featured a hat that deliberated tipped to the wrong side, was far more round in shape than Roy's ever was, and sat more firmly on Dick's head than the jaunty tilt that Roy wore so easily. The outfit itself was a purposeful inversion of the Speedy color scheme, and for an added touch of inaccuracy, Dick had thrown in a purple cape, which neither matched nor had any bearing on Roy's costume choice.  
  
Though the idea of Speedy decked out in purple was not without its humor quotient, Dick had to admit.  
  
"I hope you've taken plenty of pictures of your costume." When Clark smiled, a shiver went all the way through Dick, because it really didn't seem possible that a smile that wonderful could be directed at _him._ "I'm sure Mr. Harper would gain quite a bit of enjoyment out of seeing you dressed as his alter ego."  
  
"Al took some pics," Dick agreed with a grin. "Did you want to say hello to him or Bruce before we leave?"  
  
Bruce always claimed that Clark's face was too expressive. For his part, Dick wished he could read Clark - or well, anyone, really - as well as Bruce could. Since he couldn't read them, however, all Dick was able to do was watch as the variety of emotions flashed across Clark's face and wonder _exactly_ what they meant. The familiar sense of doubt mingled with guilt at the possibilities, just as they had continually since Dick first received confirmation that the object of his affections had once been involved with the man that was raising him.  
  
But his doubts slipped from his mind as Clark answered him. "No. Bruce is well aware that I’m here. I can’t enter Gotham without him knowing it."  
  
Strictly speaking, that wasn’t true. Bruce was _good_ , but he wasn’t _that_ good, however traitorous the thought made Dick. If Superman really wanted, he could fly into Gotham, fly into Dick’s bedroom, kidnap him, take him to The Fortress of Solitude and have made Dick come two or three times before Bruce had so much as an inkling that he was missing from the Manor.  
  
At least, Dick was pretty sure that was true. If it wasn’t, he really didn’t want the material that had been fodder for multiple fantasies destroyed for the accuracy’s sake.  
  
The extremely perverted nature of those fantasies made Dick‘s face flush as Superman's cape, which was no surprise, given that such proximity to Superman had done the same since puberty had made its presence known in the life altering, ego destroying way that Dick resented more often than not. But the tinge of bitterness on Superman’s tone momentarily distracted Dick from his typical ritual of wanting to the floor to devour him and his embarrassment. As Batman’s sidekick, Robin had been privy to a lot of sides of Superman that the world didn’t see, and as Clark’s friend, Dick had seen even more. But bitterness had rarely been one of those sides, and _never_ had the bitterness been as easy to discern.  
  
"Um, Clark? Is everything okay?" The minute the words tumbled clumsily out of Dick’s mouth, he wanted to kick himself. If things had been "okay," he really wouldn’t have needed to ask the question, would he?  
  
But his foolishness was cast aside the minute Clark smiled at him - _again_ \- and drew him close. Dick inhaled the smell of sunshine and wind as Clark lifted them into the sky, and believed the older man as he promised that nothing was wrong.  
  
It was very easy to believe that promise, as Superman flew them to Smallville. Never had Clark ever held Robin quite so tightly as they had flown. Part of Robin was concerned, but Dick fervently wished that part of his mind would shut up and enjoy the flight. It was so tempting. . .the sensations that rippled through his body as the cool wind combined with the warmth of Clark’s touch allowed Dick to cling a little tighter than he had ever dared to cling before.  
  
The changes were good and so very desirable. But Dick had been raised by a detective, and the sheer amount of changes either meant that tonight was going to be a very special night, or a very bad one. Dick hoped it would be the former, but Robin had never had a good Halloween.  
  
Either way, Dick supposed it would be an evening he wouldn’t forget, and for that reason, he clung even more tightly to Clark’s body.  
  
He was rewarded with a smile that should have been reassuring.  
********  
Halloween in Smallville was a lot different than Halloween in Gotham, and it wasn’t just the lack of loons on the lamb. Ten minutes into the Haunted Barn experience, Dick decided that, with the exception of the Kents, people in Kansas were just plain weird. They not only decorated their barns for Christmas, as his last visit to Smallville had proved, they also used the same location as elaborate haunted houses. In Gotham, those events were primarily held in the few abandoned warehouses that _weren’t_ being used for illegal purposes.  
  
Dick wasn’t going to complain about the differences. He just wished the "Haunted" Barn had been a fraction more frightening, so that he could have reached for Clark’s hand under a pretense of fear that _wouldn’t_ have been completely transparent or ridiculous.  
  
But to someone who had spent the majority of his time in Gotham, old ladies dressed as witches and old men dressed as Dracula were more humorous than frightening. Dick remembered to keep the smile off his face, because he didn’t want to be rude, and he was pretty sure that laughing at their efforts to frighten might be considered as such. But he was rather proud of the fact that, no matter how much fun the silliness was, the haunted houses in Gotham were far more frightening than the haunted barns of Smallville.  
  
Of course, his amusement could have had something to do with the fact that the Potter Barn reminded Dick of the Kent Barn - the place that had given such an enormous boost to his fantasy life since the previous summer. Or it might have had something to do with Clark’s oversized clown suit, which came complete with mis-matched shoes and a bright red nose. Watching Clark’s large frame beside him, Dick was reminded that the Joker made an absolutely lousy clown and the memory of the fear of his childhood home that the Scarecrow had installed was abandoned.  
  
No, Dick wasn’t going to complain. After all, it was rather nice to be silly sometimes, and truthfully it was something he very frequently missed.  
  
When the trip through the barn was complete, Dick took the Mrs. Potter's proffered caramel apple and watched as the gang of excited, unsupervised children rang towards Mr. Kent’s truck. "Dad’s taking them back to town," Clark explained, motioning Dick towards the dirt road that led away from the Potter home. A dozen Roy comments about back seat rendezvous on abandoned roads ran through Dick’s mind and he fought to keep the reaction off his cheeks. "Trick-or-treat starts in thirty minutes," Clark added casually, ignoring Dick’s blush with the kind of deliberateness needed by a guy with as many different types of Super Sight as Clark had.  
  
"Trick-or-treat doesn’t start until 7:00?" In Gotham, Trick-or-treat was over by 6:30, because despite his and Bruce’s best efforts, the streets still weren’t entirely safe come nightfall.  
  
Dick pushed aside his the guilt that tugged at him as Clark leaned down closer to his ear and whispered, "Nope. And most of the kids go without any adult supervision, too."  
  
"They don’t travel in packs?" Dick supposed they didn’t; it was more of a Gotham tradition than a Smallville one.  
  
There was a swelling of pride in Clark’s chest that had nothing to do with Gotham, and everything to do with his hometown as he answered. "The smaller kids do, but from third grade up, no."  
  
"I hope we can make Gotham that safe, someday," Dick confessed, allowing a small bit of wistfulness to infiltrate his tone despite his best intentions.  
  
A warm hand clasped him on the shoulders. "She couldn’t ask for better guardians to lead her there than the ones she has," Clark responded, and Dick felt some of his guilt leave him. His comfort was due, in part, to the fact that Superman _always_ told the truth, but also because of the feel of that hand. . . Well, Dick didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of the feel of Clark’s hands on his body, however innocent the touches might have been.  
  
Clark removed his hand, and Dick concentrated on the caramel apple at hand in an effort to will away bodily reactions that Alfred promised would get easier to control once his teenage years passed. It wasn’t as though Clark would have said anything about them, but that hardly eased Dick’s embarrassment any.  
  
Unlike Clark, who ate with the same straightforwardness that Superman approached everything, Dick preferred to take his time, nibbling away the caramel before sinking his teeth into the fruit. Biting into his treat, Dick had to push down a surge of disloyalty. "Not even Alfred’s caramel apples are this good," he stated disbelievingly. Alfred’s apples were wonderful, but they were always red and _sweet_. Mrs. Potter's apples were green and _sour_. . .so very much like the ones he’d had in the circus.  
  
"Ma’s are even better," Clark argued, "But Mrs. Potter's are pretty good too. As for those _city_ apples. . ." Clark shivered, enough that his glasses slipped out of place. Dick wished for the willpower to be brave enough to reach up and take those glasses off his face. Clark Kent wasn’t a lie, the way Bruce Wayne was, but those glasses were, and Dick kind of despised them for hiding the man he wanted. But Clark fixed his own glasses, and added, "Nothing beats the taste of apples freshly plucked from the tree. Something gets lost somehow, on transit to the store."  
  
Dick was saved from a traitorous agreement about the lower quality of city apples in general when the road they’d been walking on dead-ended into a corn field. He turned to look at Clark expectantly, experience teaching him to allow his partner to take the lead. He was confused to see Clark frowning at the field ahead of him in a manner that seemed so very out of place for a farm boy.  
  
From the minute Dick caught sight of the frown on Clark’s face, the fleeting feeling he’d had earlier in the evening reasserted itself. Clark’s face really was an open book, as Bruce always claimed, but it was written in a language Dick didn’t know. . .and one he wasn’t sure he’d ever have the skills to translate.  
  
It was, to say the least, frustrating. "Clark -" he began, but stopped abruptly as Clark turned to look at him.  
  
"You brought your Robin costume?"  
  
"Yeah. It’s underneath the Speedy costume."  
  
"I think. . ." Dick’s stomach somersaulted in fear as he contemplated the few times he’d ever seen Clark unsure. All of those instances had been as fake as the glasses Dick hadn’t removed, but this stutter was very _real_. Every ounce of Bruce‘s detective training told Dick so, and he wished he could be even remotely grateful for those instincts. As it stood, however, he would have given anything to be oblivious to the signs that were pointing to bad things to come. "I think that this should probably be a conversation between Dick and Clark, but not as Speedy and Bozo. Um, maybe you should -"  
  
"I brought regular clothes, too," Dick interrupted, because focusing on their attire redirected his focus away from the feeling of dread that came with the sincere uncertainty behind Clark’s "Um." Sliding his quiver off his shoulder, he removed the arrows and pulled out the jeans and sweater that had been bundled underneath the weapons. Clark nodded his approval and turned around to give him privacy.  
  
The Potter Barn wasn’t even in sight anymore, and Dick knew no one could see him as he hastily slipped off the Speedy outfit and slid into his everyday clothes. The sweater was enough to protect him from the frigid Gotham winter, but Dick still felt a chill as he folded the Speedy costume into the bottom of the quiver and replaced the arrows.  
  
"Are you finished?" Clark asked, without turning around. Dick supposed Clark had been able to tell by the sounds of buttons snapping and zippers zipping, and the thought of Clark listening to him _get dressed_ would normally have been a very pleasure-inducing thought. But his mind was distracted by the impending disaster that he _knew_ was awaiting him.  
  
"Yes, I’m finished."  
  
Clark turned around and motioned to the fence that bordered the left hand side of the road. Dick followed his lead, and perched himself on one of the wooden fence posts as the older man leaned remained standing. Curling his knees up to his chest, Dick tapped his knuckles against the underside of his legs in an effort to subdue the adrenaline that made his heart beat rapidly.  
  
It was the very first time he’d ever been _afraid_ of Superman.  
  
"Dick," Clark began, his voice so low and gentle that it _hurt_ , because it confirmed every one of Dick’s worst fears without providing the "why." Dick was tempted to beg Clark to stop, and beg Superman to fly him back to Gotham. He would have, if Dick hadn’t been so afraid of looking like an immature idiot in front the man he’d idolized so much.  
  
Of all the other times Bruce had ever interrupted the time Dick had spent with Clark, why couldn’t he choose to do so now, when Dick actually wanted him to?  
  
". . .I know you have very strong feelings for me. . . beyond that of mere friendship," Clark continued, and Dick remembered the first punch he’d ever received as Robin. He’d been expecting it, and had imagined how badly it would hurt, but he’d still been unprepared for the actual sting of the blow.  
  
"I care for you a lot," Clark added, "And you. . . and Bruce. . . will always hold a very special place in my life, but . . ."  
  
 _And Bruce?_ It was good to know that he’d completely hallucinated any and all unique aspects to his friendship with Clark - that no such friendship would have existed at all if Clark’s mind didn’t implicitly link Dick with Bruce. All those shared smiles behind Batman’s back during the times they’d worked together, all those flights spent alone. . .they’d all meant nothing, and Dick would have been glad to have been corrected in his foolishness, if the revelation had only come sooner.  
  
Amidst his self-pity, Dick realized that Clark was still talking and he wanted so very much to be angry at the older man for dragging this out. Couldn’t he hurry up and get it over with?  
  
But, then, Dick supposed, breaking someone’s heart was probably a new experience for Superman. Maybe he’d never been told that it was better to pull the Band Aide off all at once. Actually, that would have been a pretty crappy analogy to use on Clark, Dick supposed, seeing as how the invulnerable one had never had any need for Band Aides.  
  
Clark had also clearly never had _his_ heart broken. If he had, he would have known better than to drag it out.  
  
"But you don’t feel the same for me," Dick interrupted softly, aching for this to be over so that he could return to the Manor and Gotham . . . and so _very far away_ from the man he’d made a repeated fool of himself in front of.  
  
"What you want with me is impossible for a lot of reasons, Dick," Clark answered, as though Dick hadn’t spoken at all, and Dick wondered if Clark saw everything he did as insignificant as the words that he’d had to force out of his mouth. "And I’m not . . .waiting on you to grow up."  
  
 _"Dick is a child."_ The words had been uttered by Clark months ago, when Bruce had been under the affects of sex pollen. Like a fool, Dick had ignored their meaning.  
  
He’d never, _ever_ make the same mistake again.  
  
"I’m sorry if I ever led you . . .to believe otherwise," Clark finished. His words were so characteristically nice that they reminded Dick, just in case he’d forgotten, that the man breaking his heart was the same man that rescued kittens from trees. On one hand, Dick was grateful, because his heart couldn’t have stood it if Clark had been any crueler.  
  
On the other hand, Clark’s very _niceness_ reminded Dick that every ounce of the hurt he was feeling was no one’s fault but his own.  
  
Dick must have been doing a pretty crappy job of hiding his hurt, because Clark insisted on trying to apologize, even though it had been Dick’s stupidity that had led them here. "Dick, I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry -" And Dick might have let him ramble on, if Clark’s hand hadn’t reached out and hovered near his face, as it had done a month ago in the JLA Watchtower.  
  
Remembering the triumph that had raced through his veins at the simple act of Clark stroking his cheek made Dick ashamed enough of his own foolishness to prompt him to say, "It’s fine, Superman." Dick winced as his own familiar reliance on titles came to the forefront and exposed his pathetic weakness all the more, just in case they hadn’t been completely _obvious_ to Clark to begin with. "But I’d really like to go home now."  
  
Clark looked like there was more he wanted to say, but Dick didn’t give him the chance as he slid off the fence post. Dick fastened the quiver so that there was no danger of any of the arrows coming free in flight, pulling away as Clark reached for his waist. Instead he reached for Clark’s hands, making it clear that he wanted to be carried in the same way Batman, Flash, and practically all other men carried by Superman were handled.  
  
It might have showed his weakness, too. But, Dick reasoned with himself, it was perfectly reasonable to expect to be carried in the _exact same fashion_ as everyone else. He wasn't deserving of any special treatment.  
  
Clark had made that much very clear.  
  
  



	11. Grabbing What's Close and Holding on Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes your footing slips. You stumble. And sometimes you grab what's close to you and hold on as tight as you can." Dick and Clark deal with some of the harsher realities of life, and Roy and Barry try their best to help out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I guess sometimes the ground can shift between your feet. Sometimes your footing slips. You stumble. And sometimes you grab what's close to you and hold on as tight as you can.” ~ Kevin Arnold, The Wonder Years._

"You know who I miss?" Roy said abruptly, as he dodged one of Dick's kicks far more successfully than he ever had before.

Dick honestly tried to focus on the joy he should have felt at his friend's new found competency in hand to hand sparring, thanks to Black Canary's post-rehab diet of training. The petite woman who had taken Roy under her wing insisted Roy prove to her his ability to handle himself in the field before he could return to it. But while Dick really _was_ happy that the fighting techniques he'd tried to get his teammate to learn were finally being drilled into his head, every word Roy spoke made it all too easy to fall into the melancholy that Dick felt every time he thought of Clark.

Not that Roy was doing it on purpose. A million stupid things reminded Dick of Clark - the direction the wind blew (and how his face had felt flying against it, tucked safely under Clark's arm), the blue in the shirt of the girl who sat four seats ahead of him in Algebra, the corn Alfred served with chicken (and the way Hazel had felt beneath his legs as he'd followed Clark across the back streets of Smallville), or any and all fruits that automatically became associated with the bittersweet caramel apples lingering just out of taste on Dick's tongue whenever he thought about the October day when Clark had made it clear he didn't want him.

_Or_ the way his cotton sheets contrasted against the phantom feel of the Fortress' silver sheets Dick had once laid upon.

Still, the idea of missing anyone was a completely cruel reminder of the enormity of what Dick had lost. At least, it would have been, if Speedy had any idea of what he had inadvertently said.

"No," Dick answered, tossing a leg kick to block Roy's left arm, which the redhead countered with his right. Nice move, and one that would have worked, had Dick not been in the possession of two legs. Falling down upon his hands, Dick leaned upon them as he twirled his left leg back around and knocked Roy onto his back. "Who do you miss?" Dick finished, standing up and grinning triumphantly down at Roy.

The grin didn't feel as conflicted as Dick felt, so in that way, he supposed that it was mostly sincere.

Speedy scowled at the proffered hand for a moment, and Dick would have felt guilty for knocking Roy down, if it hadn't been for the plea his teammate had given Dick just before their sparring had commenced. _"Don't take it easy on me,"_ Speedy had requested. _"I'm healed now. Let me show you what I can do."_ It was a plea Dick understood well, so he'd agreed... but now he found himself questioning that judgment call. At least until Roy reached up and grabbed his hand, pulling himself up and returning Dick's grin as he moved back in to a defensive position.

"Garth," Roy finally answered.

" _You_ miss _Garth_?"

"Yeah. Never thought I'd admit it, but I really miss not having old Fish Face around," Roy admitted. Dick caught the leg that flipped towards him, throwing Speedy off balance enough to somersault backwards away from the onslaught of Canary-taught kicks.

Dick missed Garth too, and he couldn't quite suppress the anguish he felt at the unwanted, yet obvious reminder that all the parts of his life that were supposed to be solid and dependable were slowly slipping away, as though they were all as real as Old Man Robert's magic show had been back in Haly's Circus. The Titans... _Clark_....and, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, things weren't... the same between him and Bruce anymore either. They hadn't been for a long time, but Dick had done his best to ignore that fact. Maybe it was only natural that he couldn't ignore it anymore. Considering what had happened during Halloween... well, maybe it was normal that when one part of your life crumbled, the parts that were already broken would seem more obvious.

"Hey, no fair you using your acrobat tricks!" Speedy declared.

"Gotta use what I got," Dick responded, diving between Speedy's legs and readying his final kick - one which Roy had never been able to duck.

But he did this time, with an actual kick to the gut which would have been enough to knock any unsuspecting creep down. Dick had to admit, Speedy's new trainer was _good._ He'd love to spar with her sometime.

"I still call foul, man. A definite foul."

"Are you going to call foul when you're facing Ding Dong Daddy Dowd or Mad Mod?" Dick teased.

"No. I'll just leave them to you, Short Pants."

"And if I'm busy? With say, Antithesis or Gargoyle?"

"Dude, are you _trying_ to jinx us? They're safely in limbo. You keep saying their names, they'll pull a Beetlejuice and get free and plunge us back into some sick world so they can get off on our negative emotions."

"Sorry." Dick dodged an arrow, and disarmed Roy's bow with a well-aimed batarang. "But we _do_ have to be ready for the possibility that someday they could break free." Dick shivered a little at that possibility. They, along with Scarecrow, were three of the worst villains Dick had ever faced.

"Kill joy," Roy muttered.

Dick only barely heard his friend. The memory of Scarecrow, and the dream he had inflicted - along with all the pleasant after affects that were forever joined in Dick's memory with the scent of sunshine, wind, and corn and the feel of silver satin sheets - allowed Dick be distracted long enough to hesitate. As a result, Roy was able to get in a good slingshot with what was left of the rest of his bow.

It smacked Dick right between the eyes, with enough force that he landed rather hard on his backside.

"So.. seeing as how I finally kicked your ass, what do you say we call it a day?" Roy said cheerfully.

Dick stood up and brushed off his backside, somewhat unnecessarily. He tactfully didn't mention that three times he'd kicked Roy's ass. After all, his friend really was getting a lot better... and if he was still more of an archer than a fighter, well, it was still an improvement. Besides, Dick wasn't bad enough of a friend to knock Roy while he was still struggling to get up from his addiction. "Sure. Lunch?"

"Sounds good."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The problem with Hal, of course, was that he cheated. Oh, he'd never admit it, and Hal was just cocky enough to think a Speedster wouldn't notice him cheating at cards.

But for reasons that Barry hadn't quite figured out, Hal's little cheating sprees were seriously curbed the minute Clark sat down at the JLA's designated card table. Maybe it was the Super Vision. Or maybe it was the simple fact that it was _Superman._ Green Lanterns maybe didn't fear anything, but they certainly weren't above hero worship. Fighting Sinestro wouldn't have bothered Hal as much as it did if that were true.

In any event, while Barry was glad to have two of his friends in one spot - it had been a while since he'd seen Hal, given all of his Green Arrow related activities - Barry was even more pleased to have Clark be one of them. The only other two people who could make Hal behave were J'onn and Dinah. J'onn refused to play cards with them, and Dinah was ... otherwise occupied.

"How is Speedy doing?" Barry asked, as he dealt the cards. Despite his light tone, Barry was well aware that conversation wasn't as light as it usually was when Big Blue and Hal were around. Barry couldn't quite place what was wrong, but there was a definite cloud of ... negativity hanging over what should have been a friendly game of cards between friends. It didn't seem to be directed at either himself or Hal, but there was no denying it was there.

Barry wasn't one to try to dictate his friends' emotions - positive, negative, or otherwise. He wasn't quite that arrogant. Still, Clark was usually pretty good at hiding his emotions from the League, or at least the part of the League that wasn't The Trinity. Barry understood and respected that- Clark needed to have that emotional distance to maintain being Superman around them. But for Big Blue to be so visibly bothered ... well, it worried the part of him that valued Clark's friendship.

"He's doing well," Hal responded, picking up his cards and looking at Clark before scowling into his hand. "The ... encounter with Ollie didn't go well, but other than that, he's doing fine."

"Hmph." Barry picked up his own cards, mulling over the choice statements he could say about Oliver Queen in regards to his young ward. Finally he settled on, "You do know I actually had to restrain Wally from giving Ollie the beating he deserved for his treatment of Roy, don't you?"

"Yes, Barry. You might have mentioned that a time or two," Hal answered, with an eye roll Clark didn't acknowledge and a friendly grin Barry ignored in favor of wondering what was wrong with Clark. "Besides, you, Diana, Arthur, and Bruce did a fine job of letting him have it without the help of Kid Flash, or any other Titan."

Barry wasn't sure Hal saw the look Clark gave him - it came and was replaced quicker than his Lantern friend was likely able to register. Unlike Clark's expression, the laying down of his cards was very deliberate. "He _deserved_ it," Clark said firmly, voice full of the type of venom usually reserved for Lex Luthor.

"I'm not saying he didn't," Hal replied, amicably enough that Barry wondered if he was getting any of the signs Clark was giving out. Probably not. Barry didn't necessarily blame Hal,though. It wasn't the sort of behavior one looked for in _Clark_. "I'm just saying he knows he made a mistake and maybe -"

A person didn't need to be a Speedster to notice the force with which Clark slammed his palm down on the table. "That's not _good enough_." Clark frowned down at the broken table for a minute before muttering an apology and flying out of the room.

"What the hell's gotten into Big Blue?" Hal asked, using his ring to pick up the cards. "And should one of us go after him?"

"I will. You stay here and fix the table."

"Why do I have maintenance duty?"

"Because you cheat."

The great thing about being a Speedster was that Barry was out of the room before Hal could even begin to think of a protest.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Why do we always have tuna when we eat lunch together?" In the kitchen of headquarters, Dick scowled down at the sandwich in his hand, but wasn't feeling quite morose enough to surrender his lunch after the appetite their sparring session had caused, even if it did call up memories of his time at the Cadbury Rehabilitation Clinic. In the aftermath of the Clark, Bruce, and Sex Pollen debacle, Dick had been so _certain_ that nothing could get worse.

It hurt to know that he'd been such a naive, foolish little twit.

Wallowing in his self pity wouldn't change that. The useless emotion was swallowed down along with the unnecessarily runny tuna fish. _Alfred's_ tuna fish was never this runny.

Roy shrugged, seemingly not disturbed by any unnecessary emotions _or_ runny tuna fish. "I like to think of it as a way to honor our absent teammate." Roy held his sandwich loftily towards Dick, in the same manner that most would for a toast. "Here's to Fish Face, wherever he may be."

"You know he's in Atlantis, Roy."

"No. I know that's what he _told_ us," Roy corrected between chews.

"You think it's a ruse?" Dick frowned. He'd missed Roy's problems. Maybe he'd missed Garth ones, too. God, he was the _worst_ leader of any team ever.

Roy shrugged and stole a handful of Dick's tater tots. "He ran off in an awfully big hurry. He might be in Atlantis. But I doubt it was something as simple as Aquaman needing him."

"Maybe." But if Garth didn't want to discuss it with them... well, maybe it was personal. Dick could certainly understand not wanting to share your personal life with the Titans. He wouldn't have shared what happened in Smallville last month, after all. "So, you've been avoiding the issue of Ollie all day. Are you going to spill?"

" _I've_ been avoiding? Pot and kettle, Robbie." Speedy pulled the straw out of his cup and began to fiddle with the plastic as he pushed the tray out of his way. Propping his chin on his hands, the straw's continual moving contrasted with the steady gaze Dick's friend gave him.

"What do you mean?"

"Good try, Robbie." It wasn't the first time Roy had rolled his eyes at him. It wasn't even the first time that day. "It's pretty obvious you're bummed about something. You going to spill, or did we leave the conversations that matter behind at Cadbury?"

Dick sighed and grabbed his Yoo-hoo, giving it a good shake before he pulled his knees up to his chest. Tapping thoughtfully on the lid, he answered, "Do you think it's possible to break up with someone without dating them first?"

"Sure, if you're fucked up." Roy's straw tapped against the blue and white plates Barry had made sure stocked their shelves. "Wait ... we're talking about you and Superman, right?"

Dick winced all over. Which, as it turned out, was good enough of a reply for Roy.

"Well, _that_ sucks. The big love of your life broke up with you? I take it the trip during Halloween didn't go as well as planned?"

"No, it really didn't." Which, as far as understatements went, was the biggest one Dick had ever told. "I just ... feel so _stupid_ for ever thinking Cl- _Superman_ could want me."

Roy ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging on the end strands with the same determination he used to tighten his bow. "This is _so_ a conversation you need to have with Donna."

Dick bristled. It was bad enough _one_ of the Titans knew his secret. No one _else_ needed to know.

"Would you chill out, Dick? I didn't tell her. She still thinks you're crushing on Batgirl. I just meant she'd be better at his sort of thing." Roy flipped his straw at Dick, hitting him in the nose. "I thought you _trusted_ me."

"I _do_." Dick sighed. In addition to being the worst leader ever, he was clearly the worst friend too. "You know I do, or I wouldn't have told you in the first place. You're the _only_ person I told ... though, apparently Superman didn't need to be told."

Dick had really thought he'd done such a good job at hiding it. He was going to have to work on hiding his emotions better. Wearing them out on such an obvious sleeve wasn't good for _anyone._

"I didn't need to be told, either. It was rather obvious to anyone with eyes."

"Really?" Dick had never wanted Roy to be so wrong about anything in his life. He gave his Yoo-hoo another vicious shake before opening the bottle. The chocolate drink spilled on the way to his lips, which, really, _figured._

Roy stared at him for a minute before shrugging and reaching for the lid to Dick's Yoo-hoo bottle. It took the place of the straw the redhead had flicked at Dick as Roy twirled and tapped it between his fingers. "Then again, I thought it was obvious when he swung by when you were on the Scarecrow's gas that he was equally attracted to you."

"You were wrong." Dick couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice, though in fairness it wasn't directed at Roy. Rather, it was directed at the fool who had derived such pleasure out of reclining in the satin sheets lining the bed in the Fortress.

"Yeah, well. I get that it sucks, man, but honestly? You got dumped... sort of ... by _Superman_. The world's perfect man. It's kind of like getting dumped by a supermodel, right? I mean, it stinks, but maybe you... maybe _no one_ can hold on to someone that perfect anyway." Roy shrugged and flicked Dick's Yoo-hoo cap towards him. Dick deflected the plastic cap with his hand, causing it to scrape his knuckles.

"Gee thanks. If this is your attempt at a pep talk, it's not much of one."

It wasn't even the second time Roy had rolled his eyes at Dick that day. "I just meant you can stop taking it like a personal failure on your part. It's not that you weren't good enough, Dick. You think that too much, too easily."

"No, I don't." It was just that Superman might have been perfect, but the time on the farm with _Clark_ had shown Dick that maybe, just maybe Clark wasn't. Maybe it wasn't impossible to believe he could have fit in Clark's world... Of course, Clark would have to think of him as something more than some silly kid sidekick of his former lover first in order for that to be a possibility.

"Yes, _you do._ You're always assuming you aren't good enough, or that you could be better. And hell, the rest of us can barely touch you, as close to perfect as you are." Roy scowled at Dick with the same expression that he'd given from his spot on the training room floor. "It's just stupid. So you weren't good enough for _Superman_. There's a world full of people you're more than good enough for. Move on. Find one of them. Quit moping like Batman. Don't die a virgin."

Dick threw his empty Yoo-hoo bottle at Roy, which the latter successfully ducked and avoided, using patented Black Canary moves. "You know what happens when you assume, Speedy."

"Yeah, 'cept for when it's true. I _know_ you, Dick. And I know that if you died tomorrow, as your closest guy friend, I'd feel obligated to mourn the fact that you died without even getting to second base."

"It's good to know that you'd be thinking about the things that really matter at my funeral, Bow Breath."

"Absolutely." Roy stood up and stretched. The shirt he was wearing was just small enough that when he stretched, the shirt stretched with him, revealing a nice set of abs. They weren't Clark's muscles, but they were nice. Of course, they only made Dick wonder, between the unattainable perfect ones and the straight guys, if he was ever going to stop falling for men he couldn't have. "Speaking of Halloween, I hear there are pictures of you dressed in my costume."

"Yeah, courtesy of Alfred. C'mon, I'll show you."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Barry found Clark outside of an abandoned carnival on the outskirts of Paris. The man who usually led the League into battle was sitting on what amounted to little more than a hill, looking into what had likely been a thriving village when the carnival had been in business. Now it was nothing more than a collection of desolate buildings, lined up in a row. "Not that Ollie doesn't deserve every ounce of your anger," Barry began, "Because he does. But I presume you were really referring to a different sidekick than Speedy entirely?"

"I don't want to discuss this with you, Barry."

"If that were true, you would have flown away, where I couldn't catch up to you," Barry argued. "But you didn't. And Robin hasn't exactly been secretive with his emotions." Barry was sure that if the teen knew how much he gave away with every not so covert glance, the boy'd be plenty embarrassed. The blushing gazes had been frequently observed and never reported to anyone else.

After all, Barry had been an awkward teenage boy once.

Clark's hands reached for the dirt of the hill beneath him, and Barry wondered if it was his imagination that felt the tremor beneath them. "I failed him, Barry. You know ... I know ... _everyone_ knew how he felt. I should have made it obvious from the beginning that it wasn't possible ... it wouldn't have hurt him so badly, if I hadn't had to break his heart so late into his fantasy."

"I don't know about that. Having your dream break your heart is always painful, no matter how it's done."

"I know." Clark's voice was barely above a whisper. "I remember."

"Ah. And that's what's really bothering you? You're afraid you're turning into the same person who broke your heart?" It was a very Superman kind of worry to have, Barry supposed.

"No," Clark said with the kind of growl to his voice that convinced Barry he was telling the truth. "I'm worried that I'll turn _Dick_ into that person. The kind ... the kind who thinks it's better to push everyone away so they can't hurt you."

Barry watched Clark's fingers pull against the grass, large fingers that could have easily uprooted the greenery consciously choosing not to. He didn't need to ask who they were talking about; the beginning years of the League had also been the tail end of the Clark and Bruce show, and Batman's disapproving glares towards young Dick's affections were as easy for a Speedster to catch as Robin's longing stares. "Part of growing up is dealing with the harsh realities of life," Barry said slowly. "And one of those realities is that sometimes the dream you're reaching for isn't within your grasp. I think you're doing Dick Grayson a huge disservice by automatically assuming that he won't be able to deal with them."

"I should have handled it better. I'm an _investigative reporter,_ Barry. I shouldn't have needed Bruce to point out what I was doing wrong."

"Right. Because your job as a reporter prepares you for how to deal with the teenage crush of your teammate's sidekick. Especially when you're busy trying not to return the crush."

Clark winced, and Barry watched the blades of grass slip being pulled free of the patch of dirt beneath his fingers. "You don't think _that's_ wrong...and creepy?" Clark asked slowly.

Barry was beginning to wish J'onn was here. He was losing count of exactly how many issues Clark had, where Dick was concerned. "Depends. Were ... _are_ you attracted to him because he serves as a convenient replacement for Bruce?"

" _No._ " Wide blue eyes stared down at him, a mixture of horror and anger. Well, it was better than Big Blue looking so depressed, Barry supposed. "Do you really think that I'd -"

"No, I don't that. Any more than I think you'd lay a finger on the boy until he was an adult." Superman was far from perfect, but he had a definite code of morals, and some things he wouldn't budge on. Barry was quite happy to say that having sex with underage teenage boys was definitely one of them.

"I won't ... wouldn't have."

"Then I'm not sure why you think it's 'creepy.' He's a handsome kid, who will grow into an even more handsome man. He adores you, yet is close enough to see _Clark_ where others only see Superman. He's bright and fun and a damn good hero. Why wouldn't you be attracted to him?"

"Would you say the same if it was Wally?"

"Yes." Barry didn't hesitate. "Though I have to say, you and Wally would likely make a lousy couple for the five seconds you were together."

Clark sighed and leaned back onto his elbows. His head tilted up, looking into the sky at a faraway star Barry couldn't see. "I still think I could have handled it better."

"Probably. But then, you're a good ways from perfect. Considering that you'd want any of your friends to know that, I'm not sure why you're being so hard on yourself when evidence of the fact pops up."

"I would have liked Dick to have learned that lesson some other way - one that didn't involve breaking his heart. Or cow poop."

"Cow poop?"

"Something he'd said once ... long story." Barry would have responded, but Clark titled his head in the direction of some far off nemesis. "Metropolis needs me."

"Need help?"

"No. But Barry ... thanks."

"No problem."

Clark flew off then, and Barry was left with the sad realization that one of life's _other_ harsh realities was that sometimes, resolutions weren't reached no matter how long you spent talking through your problems.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Purple. You chose purple on purpose, so that no one would know we were related. God, Robbie, you're such a freak," Roy mused, flipping through the pictures Alfred had taken. "On the other hand, purple? Not the worst color. Needs something to break it up, though. And the lavendar is a _bad_ idea."

Dick leaned back on his bed and watched his friend flip through the pictures that had been taken just hours before his greatest fantasy had made it clear that he didn't want him. "So, about Ollie," he pressed.

Roy shrugged. "Could have gone better."

Flopping himself down on the bed beside Roy, Dick gave the back of his friend's head a good natured smack. "Roy. I just confided in _you._ You can tell me what's going on. Don't _you_ trust _me_?"

"Of course I do." Roy handed the pictures back to Dick and sighed. "You've got enough stuff going on, Robbie. I hate to ... add to it. But hell, I guess I have to anyway. Sooner or later."

"Sooner is better. Hurts less than if you drag it out."

"Fine. The short version? There was yelling, and more disagreement, and the general acknowledgment by us both that the Era of Green Arrow and Speedy is over. I can't be his sidekick anymore, you know? So I gotta take off, and try to figure out what kind of Speedy I _can_ be."

"So you're leaving the Titans?" Dick forced his voice to be the kind of strong he didn't really feel. Speedy was the only Titan he could _really_ relate to. The others ... well, they weren't normal and plain like he was. Imagining a Titans without his best friend there _hurt_.

And the fact that it was one more person leaving ... that hurt more than Dick was willing to admit.

But he knew Roy had to be more hurt than he was. After all, a world in which he could no longer work alongside his _partner_ was unimaginable to Dick.

"Well, sort of. Eventually?" Roy sighed and fiddled with the feather in his cap. "I start training in January. Training takes a year, so I'll be eighteen when they send me out into the field. I'll still be around for the year, if you guys really need me, but between training and doing my 'don't fuck up like I did' PSAs for the schools ... well ..."

Dick nodded his head in understanding, so that Roy didn't have to continue to search for words to explain himself. "We'll miss you."

His voice must not have been as strong as Dick imagined it, because Roy pulled him into a hug. "Hey, I'm not going to disappear off the face of the planet like Fish Face. I'll call, I'll write. You need me, give me a buzz. At least until the CBI starts sending me on top secret spy missions."

"The idea of you as a spy terrifies me."

"Worried for the enemy, are you?"

"No. I'm worried you'll never shut up long enough not to get shot."

There was a playful tap, followed by sparring that wasn't as playful as Dick forced himself to pretend to be. He tried to make himself believe Roy's promises, but between Roy, Garth, and Clark, Dick couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with him that no one wanted to stick around and be with him.

Why did everyone keep _leaving_?


	12. Order Not Yet Understood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick experiences growing pains on a number of fronts and receives confirmation that Clark does indeed still care.

Dick hurriedly walked right back out of the small guest room in Dinah Lance's apartment. In doing so, he bumped into Hal Jordan, who raised an eyebrow at the unusual lack of Robin grace displayed by the younger man stepping all over his toes before managing to interpret the blush on Dick's cheeks as reason enough to shrug and go join Dinah on the front steps.

A couple minutes later, an equally blushing Donna emerged from the guest room, carrying another box full of Roy's possessions, her hair only slightly out of place.

"You can come in now, Robbie!" Roy called cheerfully after Donna departed.

"I'm sorry," Dick said immediately as he entered the room. "I didn't mean to -"

"Don't worry about it," Roy answered with a grin. His own cheeks were also flushed, though based on what Dick had seen, that was likely due more to exertion than embarrassment. "I would have shut the door if I would have known Donna was going to be giving me my goodbye present."

Dick shuffled nervously at the blatant referral to what he'd just witnessed. Cl-Superman was right. He really _was_ a ridiculous child when it came to relationships. Cursing his own embarrassment, Dick tried to pass it off with a shrug. Naturally, around Roy it didn't work.

The redhead rolled his eyes at Dick's discomfort. "We really need to get you laid, Robbie." There was an enormous sigh before he added, "Well, the others really have to get you laid. I'll help as much as I can, but -"

Dick scowled, both at the mention of getting laid - one needed to have a boyfriend first, Dick figured - and at the empty room that reminded Dick of the starkness behind Roy's words. "I can't believe you're really leaving. So early too." Okay, a month wasn't really all that early, but still....

Roy gave him the type of hug that made Dick's throat clench tighter. "Yeah, apparently my classwork was 'far from satisfactory',' particularly in history. So, I guess you get to say, 'I told you so' on that score."

Dick would rather have asked the people at the CBI what, exactly, they hoped to accomplish in _forty_ hours work of American history. It was maybe enough to go over the origins of the American Revolution. But not a whole lot more than that. Squeezing in anything more would be proof that there weren't really worried about Roy _learning_ the material at all. "I told you so," Dick chimed in. "Repeatedly. But did you listen? No, Mr. 'I have more important things to do than study _history_.'"

"Or math. Or fucking Spanish. Like fluency in two languages isn't enough."

"I'll miss you," Dick started, but Roy cut him off.

"I'm still part time, remember? And anyway, unlike a certain tuna breath, I intend to keep in touch."

"You'll write; you'll call?" Dick said sarcastically, not believing in the likelihood of either one.

"I don't think we're allowed too many calls...and I'll probably save those for Dinah."

"Of course." Dinah _had_ been there, after all. When the leader of Roy's team _hadn't_.

"I will write though. Scout's honor."

"You were never a boy scout, Roy."

Roy grinned and lifted his last back onto his shoulder. "Good thing, too. or you'd be wanting to get in my pants."

"That'd make things a little crowded, based on what I just saw a few minutes ago."

Roy chuckled in reply. "I won't tell Donna you said that. Being that you're my friend and I want you to live."

"Gee, thanks."

Roy began walking towards the bedroom door and Dick walked silently beside him. They reached Dinah's living room before Roy stopped. "Dick. I mean it. I really _will_ keep in touch."

"I believe you, Roy."

He didn't, really. But as Titan leader, it was his obligation to make goodbye easier.

No mater how much it hurt him personally.

******  
_December 5  
Dick,_

_I promised I would write while I was away and low and behold, I am. Even though it totally makes me feel like a girl. So, you'd better write back because I don't want to feel like a stood up girl._

_Anyway, I can't tell you much about what I'm doing here, "Lest some cold hearted censor snatch it away and not let you read it." That's a quote (well, sort of, not exactly, but really close) from Truman from a letter he wrote to some chick back home during WWII._

_Hey, if I gotta be a girl, so do you._

_Yeah, they really are making me watch a bunch of boring history shit. The only thing that keeps me awake is the fact that most of the dead people we learn about would make Ollie weep - and that's always a good thing._

_How's the mission to lose your virginity going?_

_Roy_

_P.S._

_I told you I'd do a better job of keeping in touch than Tuna Breath. _

 

****

Thanksgiving hadn't been so bad, really. Sure, the wound had still been fresh from the incident at Halloween, but thanks to the Annual JSA/JLA Thanksgiving Dinner, Dick had still caught a glimpse of Clark, just as they had every Thanksgiving since Dick had come to live with Bruce.

But Christmas was another story. There as no Annual Christmas celebration to attend on the mid-December holiday; the members of both organizations were far too busy attending to their own families between the outbursts of crime caused by the holiday itself.

Perhaps to compensate for the empty chair left by Superman's absence, Bruce invited the Gordons to dine with them. Dick found this rather annoying, actually. He would have much rather wallowed in his self-pity through bites of increasingly silted conversation over Alfred's perfectly prepared meal with Bruce _alone_. As it was, listening to Jim Gordon and Bruce converse only remained Dick of the person who _should_ have been in Gordon's seat; much the same way watching his own come swirl down the shower drain left him with the drowsy realization that his washed away fantasy was all that remained of his once fertile Superman fantasy.

Of course, none of his masturbatory fantasies ever included a good kicking under the table from Barbara.

Let alone repeated kickings.

As a result of the redhead's kickings, Dick was actually quite sore by the time dinner was over. So when Barbara wanted to lead him away from their parent-figures' discussion in the living room and into a secluded part of the Manor's library, he could hardly put up a fight.

"If you were a Titan," he complained, flopping down in one of the large, comfortable chairs that had cradled him through many a Superman visit, "I would totally have you down in the training room, paying you back for the several shades of purple my leg currently is."  
  
"Pft. Like I would ever want to be a Titan."  
  
"Hey! The Titans are - " Barbara's left eyebrow raised in challenge, daring him to continue his exclamation with anything that might make her care. Dick scowled and swung his inured leg defiantly over the arm of the chair. "The Titans are the _best_ superhero team _ever."  
  
"Right_."  
  
"They are!"  
  
"Better than the JLA _and_ JSA?" Barbara challenged. She slid gracefully onto her own chair, feet tucked under her instead of swinging to the side, and her long red ponytail curled between her thumb and middle finger.  
  
"Yes," Dick answered proudly and without hesitation.  
  
"Whatever, Boy Wonder." Barbara rolled her eyes, clearly not agreeing with the assessment, but not wanting to argue. That was fine. Barbara didn't have to agree with him. Dick _knew_ that the Titans were a great team; it was one of the reasons he was so proud to lead them.  
  
"I don't think you brought me to the library to argue about the Titans," Dick surmised.  
  
"Good guess, Boy Detective," Barbara answered smoothly. "What are your plans for New Year's Eve, and how soon can they be canceled?"  
  
Dick blinked back at her. "You know what my plans are, Babs," he said with a sigh.  
  
"No. I know that Bruce has an annual party every year...you still duty bound to attend that?" Barbara stared at him, as though she too suspected he might still be a little kid.  
  
"No...."  
  
"Good. Then, since you don't have any other plans, you can accompany me to the 'annual' Gordon New Year's Eve gala," Barbara announced.  
  
"The what?" He hadn't hadn't heard of any such thing.  
  
Barbara rolled her eyes and shifted in the chair, pulling her pony tail in irritation. "We're having a small get together - mostly my father's department, a few close friends. You know. Not the type of people who would spend more than a few minutes at one of Bruce's _parties._ But Dad's shindig doesn't start until ten, so that gives you plenty of time to put in an appearance if you need to."  
  
Dick scowled and grew bored with his chair, deciding instead to lean backwards into a hand stand. "I don't have to put in a appearance," he protested. "But why do you want me to show up? Won't your family think that's kind of ...strange, considering our age differences?"  
  
Barbara shrugged. "They might think I'm a cradle robber," she agreed. "But your cradle will be enough to keep away the goons trying to get in my pants and all the biddies who want to know why a 'nice girl' like me doesn't have a boyfriend yet."  
  
"Well, why don't you?" Dick asked abruptly, then blushed at her incredulous look. "Sorry, Babs. That's none of my business."  
  
"It's okay. I just thought you realized by now that 'boyfriends' aren't exactly my type," Barbara answered with a shrug.  
  
"Oh." Dick grinned and shifted to a headstand. "Why don't you just tell that to the goons and biddies, then?"  
  
"You're one to talk. When are you going to tell _Bruce_ that girlfriends aren't exactly your type?" At Dick's silence, she shrugged. "See? At least you and Bruce _share_ the sexual preference. Me and the old biddies and the old guard at the GPD? Do not."  
  
"Hey, I have good reasons -"  
  
"Don't care," Barbara said brightly. "So, are you game, or do I have to find some way to bribe you?"  
  
"Sure, Babs. I'll do it," Dick agreed. "What are friends for?"  
  
****  
  
_December 28_  
_Dick,  
  
Oh, World War I was it? My mistake. If it makes you feel better, I got it wrong on the test too.  
  
Anyway, how are you? You sound completely miserable and bored. And since you didn't answer my last question, I guess that means you're still not getting laid.  
  
Speaking of getting laid, we watched a very "informative" sex ed video. Talking cartoons, dude. Complete with a giant purple guy named "Gona Rhea" (no, really, that's how they spelled it) and his girlfriend, ~~Cly~~ ~~Chylma~~ Chlamydia. It was very sad and possibly I laughed my ass off.  
  
So, Christmas break was okay. After Our Gang met up, I headed out to New Mexico, with this guy who's in my training class. I think you'd like him. I think I'll actually be spending the New Year holiday in NM too. Which sucks because I'll miss you guys. The school holidays were longer, weren't they? You know, back when I  wasn't trying to cram 40 hours of Spanish into one week?  
  
Anyway, I'll miss Our Gang. Give Donna a kiss for me, and try to lose your pants over the holiday. New Years is great for that. Trust me.  
  
Roy.  
  
  
_****  
  
  
Dealing with the "old biddies" and "the old guard" was more difficult than Dick had suspected it would be. Unlike the bulk of the people Bruce invited to his parties (there were exceptions, though, _always_ exceptions - Clark, Dinah, Ollie, Jim Gordon ... ) the people at Jim Gordon's home genuinely looked like they might like to rip his spleen out of his left nostril.  
  
Briefly, Dick thought it might be pretty cool to be a cop.  
  
But it was no wonder that Barbara hadn't wanted to face these people alone, as they could have formed an intimidating circle around anyone who _wasn't_ the leader of the best superhero group on the planet.  
  
"So tell me," the oldest of the old biddies asked, drawing a look up and down Dick that clearly said she thought he was taking morality lessons from The Penguin. "What exactly are your intentions with Barbara?"  
  
"My intentions?" Dick asked with a frown, because the question sounded much more ominous than the answer of being her escort would pacify.  
  
"Yes," the woman to the left of the oldest biddy intoned, giving him a look that clearly said _she_ thought he might be taking lessons from The Joker instead. "What's the attractive, _filthy_ rich son of a billionaire _playboy_ want to do with a girl with Barbara's smarts?"  
  
"Barbara is very attractive herself," Dick answered right away, because sexual preferences aside, he had to be an idiot not to notice that, right? When he'd showed up on her step and she'd opened the door to reveal herself in a green spaghetti-strap dress... well, he'd have to be a _blind_ idiot not to notice.  
  
In reply to his answer, Barbara squeezed his hand _hard_ and Dick tried not to wince.  
  
He figured out what exactly he'd said wrong when the man standing to he left of Jim Gordon snorted. "I see. I guess we all know what _you're_ interested in, then, don't we?" _That_ look implied that the man thought Dick might be taking double-speak lessons from The Riddler...and failing at comprehension.  
  
The insinuation wasn't true, of course, but with Jim Gordon sitting _right there,_ Dick felt his blush all the way down to his toes. "Uh, no, Sir," he said quickly. "I most certainly am not ...uh, interested in that."  
  
"Of _course_ not," the man on Jim Gordon's right snorted, giving him a look that said he was _quite_ certain that Dick had his own private stash of sex pollen hiding in his front coat pocket. "A boy like you would _never_ string the girl along, would you, now?"  
  
"I wouldn't," Dick said sincerely.  
  
"Barbara has plans and ambitions, young man," the woman to the right of the oldest biddy informed him, and Dick bit down a laugh as he considered that he knew far more about Barbara's plans than this woman ever would. "And she doesn't need some flaky boy ruining those plans."  
  
"Barbara's plans aren't going to be ruined by anyone," Babs finally spoke up, giving his hand a smaller squeeze, this time of reassurance.  
  
"Of course they won't," Jim Gordon agreed. "It's almost midnight, ladies and gentlemen. Shall we turn on the television and watch the countdown?"  
  
The crowd grumbled their approval and Dick tensed as the television was turned on, expecting one of Gotham's villains to be planning some diabolical plot that would force him to depart the crowded living room. He was so busy planning his departure that he never noticed Dick Clark's countdown.  
  
He wasn't expecting the kiss.  
  
Nor was he expecting the tingle that danced across his spine that accompanied it.  
  
****  
  
_Jan. 1  
  
Dick,  
  
Hey, post cards are tiny, huh? But they had a hawk, and how could I refuse?  
  
Hope you had a fun NY. Lose the V yet?  
  
Roy_  
  
****  
  
  
When Dick had first become Robin, training had been fun. None of his friends actually believed this, of course. But Dick didn't expect them to, as none of them had ever been in the circus. Daily intense training had been a way of life since before he'd been old enough to walk. It had to be, or someone could have died because of his mistakes. Lives had always depended on Dick's training, and moving in with Batman had allowed Dick to hang on to that facet of his life, that he had thought was gone forever.  
  
Training hadn't been fun in a while, though, and while Dick supposed maybe that was a part of growing up, he couldn't help but miss the days when it still _had_ been fun. Nor could he help but remember how much fun his parents had seemed to have, right up to their deaths.  
  
It was the thoughts of his parents that led him to idly practice his flips as he waited for Bruce to return from his JLA meeting.  
  
"You've spent enough time practicing your flips," Bruce announced as he entered the cave. From the tone and posture, Dick assumed that the JLA meeting had gone every bit as badly as the last two. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on in those meetings, but Dick was ready for whatever it was to be over and done with already because Bruce was more than capable of working himself into a cranky mood all by himself. He didn't need help. "You need to move onto practicing your blocking."  
  
"What's wrong with my blocking?" Dick asked. Okay, his tone might have not been the most polite, but to be fair, Bruce wasn't using _his_ most polite tone either.  
  
"Maybe we should ask the Penguin," Bruce suggested. "Considering how long it took you to round him up last night."  
  
Dick shrugged as he rolled out of his ball and onto his feet. "It was _the Penguin,_ Bruce. I didn't need to use the same techniques against him as I would against Two Face or The Joker or any of our more..." Dick waved his hands in irritation. "More _severe_ enemies. What did I need to block? His silly umbrella?"  
  
"I raised you better than to joke about this."  
  
"The Penguin _is_ a joke, Bruce. Fighting him is hardly - "  
  
"What we do _isn't_ a _game."_ Bruce's tone went from annoyed to outright angry.  
  
"I know that!" Dick protested, his voice a little angrier than he knew would work against Bruce. "I'm not eight years old anymore."  
  
"Then maybe you shouldn't act like it," was Bruce's suggestion. "I'm going out on patrol. You can stay here until you learn to take this more seriously."  
  
Despite Dick's protests, Bruce did go out on patrol alone that night. But seeing as how he had no partner to spare with, Dick felt perfectly justified in not practicing his blocking at all.  
  
****  
  
_January 10  
  
Dick,  
  
So we started real training last week..  
  
My hand? Is only now ceasing to be painful.  
  
I gave a 'drugs suck' lecture to a school last Friday afternoon, and I think the teacher thought I was still high because I could barely move without wanting to cry.  
  
I thought between Ollie and Our Gang, training would be a breeze.  
  
But merciful fucking god, I hurt. Sgt. Satan makes Mighty Mouse look like a Teddy Bear, I swear.  
  
Ow.  
  
Roy  
  
PS  
  
No, no details. You need no new ideas for torture.  
  
PS again (PPS ? PSS? )  
  
How's the V?  
  
****_  
  
To put it bluntly, Dick was confused.  
  
He'd understood - or thought he'd understood - the way his body had reacted to Barbara when she'd welcomed him in the dress that was the exact same shade of green as Roy's eyes. He'd found her attractive, as any one but a blind fool would have, and the fact that she'd willingly held his hand the entire evening...well, constant touch was a rarity in Gotham. As rare as a constant sun.  
  
But he hadn't been attracted _to_ her.  
  
He couldn't have been. He liked _guys..._ right?  
  
At least, that's what Dick had assumed, ever since the first mind-blowing jerk-off session that had been prompted by a male face instead of the female ones that he'd known to be _normal._ That assumption had been reinforced by every Clark-induced fantasy he'd ever had (and a few Titan-induced ones as well.)  
  
Sitting beside Batgirl on the rooftop across from the watch tower, however, left little to no room for doubt about it. Everything from the scent of her perfume to the way her costume fitted against her skin to the soft red locks peeked out from beneath her cowl set his nerves on edge the same way that _flying_ with Clark had.  
  
Okay, not the _same_ way - it wasn't nearly as intense, and he'd had feelings for Clark, albeit not sexual ones, since he'd been eight years old. This...this was a much duller, much more subdued version of that feeling; one that told him in no uncertain terms that he _was_ attracted to her.  
  
"Are you okay, Boy Wonder?" Barbara asked, and the sound of her voice was so very pleasant that Dick genuinely thought that it might have been possible that they'd been subjected to sex pollen.  
  
"I'm fine," he answered, far more confidently than he felt.  
  
"Are you sure?" Green eyes stared at him intently, and Dick shivered before jumping off the roof.  
  
Dick chose instead to fly through the rooftops rather than lie to her face.  
  
****  
  
_January 30  
  
Dick,  
  
It's called bisexual.  B-I-S-E-X-U-A-L.  
  
You can like both. Stop angsting about it.  
  
Didn't Mighty Mouse teach you any social science?  
  
Roy  
  
PS - banging a chick totally counts as losing your V. FYI.  
  
****_  
  
The night that Clark had broken his heart on the cold Halloween in Kansas, Dick had thought about throwing away the old newspaper clippings he'd kept under his pillow. He didn't have quite the same jubilation anymore when he pulled out the carefully preserved snap shots of the man that had been such an important part of his fantasy life.  
  
Yet, for all the hurt and anger that Dick felt whenever he pulled out the clippings, the memories of blue sky, warm wind, genuine smiles, and silver sheets were too strong to completely throw away.  
  
And so, Dick had kept the clippings.  
  
They were, at present, spread around his sheets in the normal haphazard way that he arranged them for his fantasy sessions. As Dick leaned back into his own pillow, he let the clippings be visual reminders of every memory he had stored of much closer encounters with Clark. As he closed his eyes and stroked himself, memories of hot barns and cool clouds washed over him.  
  
But so too did the memory of yellow boots and red hair.  
  
Images of green eyes and spaghetti straps mingled with the sensation of feather-light Kryptonian touch and the black hair that felt like satin in Dick's imagination.  
  
When the sensations became too much, Dick came with the feel of a red cape engulfing him, but even that familiar sensation did not serve as the total reassurance he needed.  
  
****  
  
_February 15  
Dick,  
  
So... personal identity crisis still not over?  
  
It's too bad Tuna Breathe isn't around. I always suspected he wouldn't have said no, if you catch my drift. He ever decides to show his face again, he and B.G. might be able to settle some things for you.  
  
Training is going okay - I still have Sgt. Satan every MWF, but basically we've moved onto guns and gun safety. It feels funny, you know, carrying a gun instead of my bow. Wrong somehow. I mean, don't get me wrong, this is what I want, but I don't know. It's too much of a reminder that the one code I thought I'd always have to follow, I can't anymore. Not in working with the government.  
  
Anyway, enough about my bullshit.  
  
Take care and get laid soon.  
  
Roy  
  
****  
  
_ Dick scowled down at the garlic he was mincing, hating the quiet and the implicit agreement Alfred had given Bruce by not disagreeing with him in the least in yet another round of what was becoming an entirely too frequent bout of arguments .  
  
"Please be mindful of your fingers, Master Dick."  
  
"I am," Dick snapped. Immediately feeling bad - and that raised eyebrow of Alfred's didn't help - he lowered his head and muttered a soft, "Sorry, Alfie."  
  
"It's quite alright, Master Dick. You are hardly the first angry teenage boy who has graced my presence."  
  
"I'm not _angry,_ " Dick insisted, frowning when his knife hit the cutting board a little harder than he'd intended. "I'm just...frustrated."  
  
"You feel that Master Bruce does not treat you fairly," Alfred surmised. "That he considers you a child instead of the young adult that you are."  
  
"He does!" Dick scooped the garlic into his hand and dropped it into Alfred's bowl. "I'm almost _seventeen,_ Alfi-Alfred."  
  
"Ah. Truly ancient, then."  
  
Dick sulked, even though it was hard to do on the counter stool he was sitting on. "You always take his side," he accused.  
  
"I am taking sides, Master Dick," Alfred corrected. "It is simply my experience that in dealing with two equally stubborn individuals, one of them has to learn how to give in now and again, if there is to be any hope of civility."  
  
"We didn't ...it didn't _used_ to be this hard, Alfred," Dick complained with a sigh that didn't hide the tiny fear that had nibbled in the back of his mind since the day Roy had told him that there was no more Green Arrow and Speedy. Dick had been telling himself that he and Bruce were better partners than Ollie and Roy had been, but it was becoming more and more possible that he'd been wrong about that.  
  
"You didn't used to be almost seventeen, Master Dick," Alfred said simply, placing a tomato where the garlic had been. "And unfortunately, with time, things tend to change whether or not we wish them to."  
  
"Yeah, I noticed," Dick mumbled.  
  
Which, all things considered, was really rather an understatement.  
  
****  
  
_March 1  
  
Dick,  
  
You worry way too much. About me and you. We'll be okay.  
  
And Bruce loves you a hell of a lot more than Ollie did me. So, I'm not sure what's going on, exactly, but it can't be as bad as you're making it out to be. Look, I've got an Easter break coming up - we'll talk then in person, okay?  
  
Roy  
  
****  
  
_ To be fair, _A Farewell to Arms_ was not that difficult to understand, and the amount of time that Dick had allotted himself and Eric for their scheduled review was about an hour too many.  
  
Also to be fair, Dick had long since thought Eric was cute.  
  
Apparently, however, the feeling wasn't mutual. "What was that?" the other boy demanded.  
  
"Um, a kiss?" Dick flushed. He'd thought he'd be safe with Eric; he was the only other boy their age that Dick knew (Roy's guesses did not count) to be gay. But the hostile expression on Eric's face told him otherwise.  
  
"I see. So, what, you are too good to be out in school, and maybe take some heat off the rest of us, but not too good for a little make-out session in private?"  
  
"Wait. That's not what I meant at all -"  
  
"Sure it isn't. Look, Grayson, I probably shouldn't have expected anything different from _Bruce Wayne's_ son, but I'm not some stupid bimbo to use for your convenience." Eric stood up, looking as disgusted at Dick as Dick felt with himself.  
  
"Eric, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"  
  
"Just get out."  
  
It was simple enough of a request.  
  
Dick was three cracks down the sidewalk when his communicator - the one that only Clark and Bruce knew the frequency of - beeped. He cleared his throat to get rid of the tightness, and ducked into an alley to answer it before the second beep was complete.  
  
"Are you alright?" Clark's voice hadn't been directed at him since Halloween, and the tenderness in Clark's voice _right then_ was almost enough to make Dick want to cry. Almost.  
  
"I'm fine. Why do you ask?" He could be polite. Unfailingly, Alfred-approved polite. Because being polite was a better solution than breaking down ad sobbing his stupidity over a communicator to someone who _didn't really care_.  
  
"Your heartbeat..." Clark paused in his explanation. "Your heartbeat was ...racing. I thought you might be under duress."  
  
"That's what happens sometimes, when you kiss people," Dick said, silently willing Clark to believe that he childish idiot he'd left behind wasn't sitting around wishing for him to come back. No matter how much he really was. "Adrenaline, you know?"  
  
There wasn't so much as a pause on the other line, and Dick figured that he was an idiot for thinking Clark cared. "In that case, I'm sorry I interrupted you. If you don't need anything -"  
  
"No, I don't," Dick said firmly, snapping the communicator shut.  
  
It was good to be the one to say goodbye for a change. At least, it _should_ have felt good. The guilt that settled in the bottom of his stomach argued otherwise, but Dick chalked it up to the mess he'd made with Erik.  
  
More confused than ever, Dick set out for home.  
  



	13. Not Only to be Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>    Two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, Dick discovers that making a mistake is hardly the end of the world and can in fact bring about pretty positive changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   The events mentioned in this part are referenced in _Nightwing_ 134/135, and the dialogue between Bruce and Dick at the end is taken verbatium from _Nightwing_ 135.

_“A child becomes an adult when he realizes that he has a right not only to be right but also to be wrong.”  ~ Thomas S. Szasz_  
*****  
  
"You know, I agreed to your terms."  
  
Eavesdropping was not very polite, Alfred was aware. But in his dealings with Master Wayne, Alfred had long since learned that the value in the task outweighed any impropriety.  
  
Thus, three weeks after the falling out between Master Dick and Master Bruce, Alfred listened to the conversation between two men who loved the boy equally, if in different ways.  
  
"I’m aware of that, Clark. But I’m still not sure how this concerns you."  
  
Alfred continued dusting the parlor and kept his own disapproval to himself, a skill that he had learned well during his service.  
  
"It concerns me because I did _what_ I did only with the agreement that you wouldn’t push him away."  
  
"I _didn’t_." If Alfred disagreed with that sentiment, he kept that disagreement to himself as well.  
  
"Dick worships the ground you walk on. If you hadn’t pushed, he’d never have left. And before you ask, _that_ concerns me because if I hadn’t agreed to your terms, he might have still felt comfortable enough to come to me instead of wandering the streets."  
  
"So that’s what’s bugging you? That Dick didn’t come crawling to you?"  
  
"No. I’m far more concerned about the fact that he’s _alone_ and confused."  
  
"If you’re that concerned, maybe you should stop wasting time _here_ and _go look for him_." There was a pause in the conversation before Bruce added, "And you can give him your present in person."  
  
It may have sounded harsh to Master Clark’s ears, but Alfred knew Master Bruce well enough to recognize the admission lurking beneath his words. For the first time since Master Dick had left, Alfred could truly say he was proud of Master Wayne.  
  
****  
  
The last money order had been sent to pay for the damages Dick had been a passive witness to, but despite the reparations, he found himself remaining on watch on the rooftop across the street from the now empty parking lot. The scene of his crimes no longer held any evidence that he or any of his friends had ever been there. But Dick _knew_. He knew that he had been there, and had stood by while his new friends had committed acts which went against every code Dick had held dear since the day he’d made his candle-light vow next to Bruce in the Bat Cave.  
  
He hand't stolen like they had. He hadn’t vandalized property like they had. But Dick had _let_ them, and regardless of the money he’d mailed to make up for it, Dick knew he was responsible for allowing it to happen.  
  
For that matter, he was _still_ allowing it to happen. While he sat on the rooftop, Eddie and his followers were out committing more crimes, leaving Dick behind only under the pretense that he was sick.  
  
Faking illness wasn’t hard under the circumstances. Dick did genuinely feel sick to the bottom of his stomach. He supposed that’s why it was so easy for even _her_ to believe his lie.  
  
He also supposed that was why he’d returned to the scene of the crime and why he sat perched on a rooftop when he had no business being there any more. All that hanging out on the rooftop would accomplish was drawing Br - _Batman’s_ attention.  
  
So when Dick heard the footsteps land behind him, accompanied by the familiar sound of a billowing cape, Dick fully expected to turn around and see his former mentor waiting to take him into custody. He wasn’t quite sure what to think when he turned around and saw Superman instead.  
  
It finally dawned on Dick that Batman had already heard the news, and it was worse than Dick had feared. Bruce was obviously so disgusted with Dick’s actions that he couldn’t even bear to come take him into custody himself.  
  
Not that Dick blamed Bruce. He was disgusted with himself.  
  
Some of his disgust gave way to confusion, however, when Superman smiled warmly at him. "Dick." The greeting was awfully ... _pleasant_ for someone who was getting ready to cart Dick away to prison.  
  
"Superman," Dick greeted hesitantly.  
  
Superman tilted his head, and frowned slightly, and Dick figured this was it. This was the moment he’d say goodbye to being Robin forever.  
  
"You can call me Clark," Superman said. "We’re alone, after all. Your new friends are…otherwise occupied."  
  
Dick cringed in a manner that would have been visible to anyone, let alone someone with Superman’s vision. "They aren’t my friends," he said quietly. "I-I thought they were, but I was wrong."  
  
Superman hummed non-commitally before replying. "In any case, your new company has kept you quite busy over the last couple weeks. So I’m sorry this is late, but I didn’t think Superman or Clark Kent would be very welcome around them." Before Dick’s wince was complete, Clark held out a package that Dick hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Kicking himself for having such lousy observation skills, Dick accepted the package.  
  
"My birthday?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Two weeks late," Superman said with a rueful smile that didn‘t belong on the face of the other half of the World‘s Finest. "So happy belated birthday, Dick."  
  
Dick stared back at the object of his affections, very conscious of the surreal nature of Superman apologizing to him in light of all _he’d_ done wrong.  
  
"Well, aren’t you going to open it?"  
  
Dick nodded slowly, and although still very confused, began tearing at the wrapping. Superman’s blue mixed with Robin green in a familiar repeat of Christmases and birthdays past. The wrapping paper fell to the rooftop, and Dick sliced through the carefully taped cardboard and the red tissue paper until his fingers reached the cool metal and glass of his present. Sliding it out of the box, he examined it and shot a quizzical look at the man who had given it to him.  
  
"It’s a compass," Clark answered Dick’s unasked question.  
  
"I haven’t seen one like this before." Dick turned the device over in his hand, examining the color change from red to blue as he moved the direction of his arm.  
  
"It’s based on Kryptonian technology," Clark answered, and Dick would have felt honored, if he’d deserved such a gift. As it was, the metal in his hand suddenly felt cold and the intent of the gift only deepened Dick’s shame.  
  
"A compass? That obvious I don’t know what I’m doing?" Dick was reminded of Clark’s communication only weeks ago, when he’d fouled up with Eric. He wondered if Clark was keeping tabs on him. The idea of someone watching over him was a nice one; it made him feel a lot more secure than he otherwise would have.  
  
"A compass like this one is described in the early chapters of the Nightwing solo histories," Clark responded, and Dick’s memories transported him back in time, to Christmases spent curled on the rug at Clark's feet, childish curiosity eagerly soaking in stories with the same rapt attention that his hormones would later pay to Clark’s presence. "He apparently built it just after his family cast him away."  
  
Dick bit down the reply that Bruce hadn’t cast him away; he’d _ran_ away, and it was that knowledge that made him so foolish. "He used it during the Year of Contemplation, right?"  
  
"A year wandering the tundra," Superman agreed with a slight nod. Lacing his fingers behind his back, he offered gently, "I wanted you to have a reminder that we all lose our way sometimes, Dick. And that’s okay, as long as we struggle to find it instead of laying down and quitting because the journey is too difficult."  
  
The tone was as gentle as a cloud brushing over his skin in mid-flight at Superman’s side. It was entirely too gentle; Dick sank to the floor of the rooftop, eyes squeezed tightly shut, clinging the compass tightly to his chest.  
  
Strong arms wrapped around him instantly, and Dick was certain in that moment that they were the only thing holding him together  
  
Superman sat there silently holding Dick for a time period that Batman - or _Robin_ \- would have counted, but Dick was too busy trying to not to fall apart to do so. When the urge to completely break down passed, Dick looked up with eyes that were wet with tears he hadn‘t permitted himself the right to shed. "I’ve done some horrible things, Sup - _Clark_." The name correction seemed appropriate, somehow, considering how close the other man sat at his side.  
  
"We all make mistakes, Dick." Clark frowned. "I know that must sound like platitude, but it’s true."  
  
"They don’t sound as much like platitudes when they come from you," Dick said softly.  
  
"The costume does have that effect," Clark answered with a small smile, and Dick didn’t have a chance to correct him and let him know that the costume wasn’t what was currently holding him together before Clark continued, "I know what you’re going through right now is hurting you. And I know you feel guilty and ashamed and unsure what to do."  
  
"Right on all accounts." Dick leaned, just a little, into Clark’s embrace. He’d been feeling lost, but with Superman here, it could be fixed. Everything would be okay. Superman would make certain of that.  
  
"And you’ve made a mistake that hurt someone else, when that’s the very last thing you ever wanted." Clark tightened his grip marginally and despite the shame he felt, Dick noted that the shiver Clark's touch caused was ten times the intensity of _her_ touches - the woman who had made _this_ life look so enticing. "I wish I couldn’t say how much I understand that."  
  
"What do you mean? You’ve never hurt _anyone_. You’re _Superman._ "  
  
"I hurt _you_ ," Clark responded, and the man sounded so remorseful that Dick almost dared to believe that he actually deserved it. "I thought I was doing what was best...but I can see now that I handled it wrong. I can’t ever begin to tell you how sorry I am."  
  
"Clark, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I understand."  
  
"No, I don’t think you do." Clark squeezed even tighter.  "But I’ll keep working on how to fix _my_ mistake while you work on how to fix _your_ mistake."  
  
"But …" Dick frowned at the implication of Clark’s words. "Aren’t you going to tell me how to fix it?" It should have been obvious that Dick didn’t know how to do it himself.  
  
"I could," Clark agreed. "I could tell you what I think you should do in explicit detail. You could follow those instructions and I could round up every one of your new companions."  
  
"But you _won’t_."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because part of being an _adult_." Clark’s voice stressed the word in manner that made Dick wonder if Bruce had relayed every detail of their fight to him. "Is not only _acknowledging_ your mistakes but learning how to fix them."  
  
"You know, if Batman were here, he’d point out that I’m only 17," Dick joked weakly.  
  
Clark nodded. "He might. But then you’d point out that you were an adult in every way that mattered, even if technically you won’t legally be one for another 350 days."  
  
Dick was still quite ashamed of himself, but he did realize two very important things. One, Clark was right, and Dick needed to fix this mess he’d gotten into himself.  
  
Two, the knowledge that Clark knew it was exactly 350 days until his 18th birthday made his knees weaker than every false promise made by the woman lying in Eddie’s bed.  
  
"Okay. So I’m on my own for this one."  
  
"To a point." Clark tilted Dick’s chin up so that their faces met. "If your plan doesn’t go as well as you’d hoped, if you need any help, I’m only a call away. If you feel you can’t go to Bruce, and if your own compass isn’t enough, I expect you to be adult enough to admit you need help."  
  
"I will," Dick promised, fingering his present.  
  
"Good." Clark's smile was more befitting of Superman this time as he asked, "Is it okay if I let go now?"  
  
Dick held his compass even closer to his chest as he nodded again. "Yes," he said finally, "It is."  
  
Clark let go, but the weight of those arms remained resting on Dick’s shoulders long after Superman had disappeared from sight.  
  
That borrowed strength allowed Dick to stand up, slide the compass into his back pocket, and take the first steps towards fixing his mistake.  
  
****  
It took another full week, but the solution led Dick to another rooftop and having another conversation with an entirely different man he loved for completely different reasons.  
  
"By the way, you did good."  
  
"I know. I’m not a kid anymore."  
  
"You coming home?"  
  
"As equals?"  
  
"No. I’m older. Smarter. And I can still take you in a fight. But I will respect you…as an _adult_. You earned that."  
  
"A _long_ time ago."  
  
"Maybe it just took a while for me to see it. Well?"  
  
"Okay. ‘Least til I’m eighteen."  
  
"Deal."  
  
****  
  



	14. ;A Very Smurfy Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the second Halloween in a row, things don't go as Dick would like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "spells" in question come from [this website](http://www.romantic-lyrics.com/halloween-love.html), though they've assuredly been altered to fit the purpose.

 

Dick was really beginning to hate Halloween.

It had never - at least, not since he'd been taken away from the circus - been a holiday that had brought any good to him. Lunatics tended to run rampant, in the way that Haly's fortunate teller had believed spirits did on Halloween, from about the second week of October until the middle of November (whereupon, a two week holiday was apparently declared before the loonies began their annual Christmas rush.) It was, without fail, a full month of Gotham's own brand of "witches," "warlocks," and assorted other "evil spirits" on the run. More than was normal even for them.

Thus, Dick was not entirely enthusiastic about the holiday as a whole, and considering the events of the last Halloween, he was even less so as he laid down to sleep in the early morning hours of October 31st. Patrol had been even harder than usual the night before, and his body was sporting plenty of evidence to prove it, in the purple and blue bruises along his ribs and the cuts that decorated his legs. Finding a comfortable position to sleep in was difficult, for as long as he could force his eyes to stay open. Fortunately, his body's exhaustion made tossing and turning a moot point as sleep claimed him.

He awoke, on Halloween day, to discover he was floating in a silver bed on what he could only describe as a lake with absolutely no manor - or Bruce or Alfred - in sight.

Dick _really_ hated Halloween.

Sitting up, Dick was startled to discover that he was completely naked, despite slipping into his pajamas the night before. Even more disturbingly, the woman sitting on the glass throne at the foot of his bed most certainly did not have so much as a stitch of anything other than strategically hair and limbs as clothing either.

"You look perturbed," the woman observed. "Do you always awake feeling so unhappy, Boy Wonder?"

"Only when I wake up completely naked in the middle of a lake with Lady Godiva sitting at the foot," Dick retorted.

The woman laughed, an act which moved the strategically placed hair a bit too far to the left for Dick's taste. "Oh, I assure you, Robin, I'm no Lady Godiva. My attire, or lack thereof, is all your doing. The entire scenery is actually, from the bed to the lake to the utter lack of clothing. And I can't tell you how happy that makes me. Gotham's other defender was _quite_ a disappointment in this part of the test. He gave me linen, wood, and Kevlar. Quite boring, really."

"What have you done with Batman?" Dick demanded, trying to ignore the fact that he was completely naked. _Focus on the Mission_. Right. Easy as pie. Even when one was naked.

At least, he was sure it _should_ have been.

"Don't you worry about him, cutie," the woman answered. "As long as you and that gorgeous subconscious of yours cooperate, no harm will come to him, I promise. Besides, if I had to guess, I'd bet the old Bat is quite fond of dark and dank dungeons."

Dick stood up on the bed - because standing was far more dignified than lying at a stranger's feet - only to have the silver mattress give way to a hard red gravel which cut his shoeless feet.

Placing his own hands quite strategically over his groin, Dick tried not to show the pain the gravel caused.

"Oh! Rubies," his guest remarked, leaning down and scooping up a handful of the red rock. "My, my. Your subconscious _is_ a beautiful place indeed."

"What is it that you want?" Dick asked, because magic or no, sometimes the direct route was the best approach to take to a villain. Even the crazy, naked kind into exhibition, he supposed.

At least it wasn't Poison Ivy about to drown him with sex pollen, Dick reasoned. That was a plus, right?

"The same thing any young spirit taken before her time was up wants," came the response. "To be reunited with the lover that was taken from me."

"I'm sorry for your loss, lady, but I'm not sure how I can help, exactly," Dick answered.  He didn't mention that she looked awfully ... _alive_ to be a spirit. Her naked flesh even looked flush in all the right places...and really, weren't those kind of thoughts supposed to stop coming to him in the middle of battle now that he wasn't a virgin anymore?

"The same way every good hero helps! By passing a trial. Well, several trials, actually," she admitted. "And I assure you, I'd do them myself, but only the flesh and blood can actually play. Fortunately, I'm allowed to pick a champion to take the tests for me."

"Are we talking girdles, golden apples, bulls, and guard dogs? Those kind of trials?" Dick asked warily.

The woman looked blankly at him for a minute and then let out a series of giggles and completely forgot to keep her hands strategically placed. "Oh, no.  Heracles you are not, Boy Wonder. These trials aren't based on strength, they're based on the pureness of the love in your heart."

Dick glanced around, to the rubies, glass, and most importantly, to the naked woman sitting on the throne in front of him. "All of this has to do with the pureness of my love?"

"It's old world magic, little one, something Gotham is full of, and _Gotham_ is the one who took my love from me." The woman's angry tone was somewhat tamed by the lazy way she stretched in her throne. "You already passed the first test, Robin. It is said if your dreams are of full of silver, gems, glass, castles or clear water, then your lover is true and genuine. If you had dreamed of linen, flowers, wood or uniforms, then that would mean that your lover was false or deceitful. I've been picking champions every Halloween, but you're the first one to not drench me in a bunch of nonsensical linens. Must have something to do with those lingering teenage hormones."

Dick blushed furiously as he answered, "Then your tests are a bit off, lady. I don't have a lover." At least not anymore. Not since he'd come back home.

An impatient hand waved. "You have someone you wish for and cannot have, yes?"

"Well..." Dick blushed even harder, not planning on telling his deepest darkest secrets to some random naked spirit.

"It's close enough. The rest are details."

Dick looked at her skeptically. Still...he'd seen crazier things in Gotham. "I pass these trials for you, you let Batman go?"

"Spirit's honor," the woman replied, holding up her left hand. "And I'll even give you a guide to help you along." Those were the last words she offered before disappearing, and taking the throne with her.

In her place, she left behind a very small, very irritated blue man that looked very familiar, courtesy of Wally and Roy's television habits back when there had still been a Titans.  Which was exactly why the small cartoon character shouldn't be here, when he and his fellow smurfs only existed, according to Bruce, to be communist propaganda. "Are you a _smurf_?" Dick asked in disbelief.

The creature only looked further irritated. "I am not just _any_ smurf. I am _Brainy_ Smurf," he corrected, holding out a tiny hand to be shaken.

Feeling completely ridiculous, Dick knelt down and shook the small blue hand. Or, more accurately, his pinkie shook the small blue hand. "You're my guide?"

"Why, of course I am. Who else are The Powers That Be going to send on a mission that requires a vast amount of knowledge?" Brainy adjusted his glasses and puffed out his chest, in a manner that proclaimed his pride...and reminded Dick of the way a cricket looked once you'd stepped on it.

"I thought you worked for the ... Naked Spirit Woman," Dick asked.

"Oh, for _smurf's sake_. Do you think The Powers That Be want a bunch of love-sick spirits running around?" Before Dick could answer, Brainy continued, "No, of course they don't. The Powers are more than willing to help when the spirits go through the proper channels and request a _champion_. " Brainy said the last part full of disdain, and Dick had the feeling he was being judged unworthy by a _smurf_. "Think of Halloween as an appeal's day, and think of me as a combination lawyer and librarian to guide you through the trials."

Dick shook his head but extended his palm, which Brainy looked at questionably. "I figured you could ride on my shoulder," Dick explained.

Brainy scowled up at him. "I do have feet you know. And I am very capable of smurfing my way all my own."

"Oh, my mistake," Dick said, starting to stand up.

"However, as Papa Smurf always says, never smurf a gift horse in the mouth. So I will accept your offer." Brainy crawled onto Dick's hand and Dick placed the small creature on his shoulder.

"Well, trials, here I come," Dick said with a sigh. "Any particular direction I'm supposed to go?"

"East," Brainy answered.

Dick turned to obey the instruction, watching as the rubies beneath his feet melted away, only to be replaced with gold bricks leading the way east.

"A smurfin' yellow brick road!" Brainy exclaimed. "That's an interesting subconscious you have, _Dorothy._ "

"Watch it, Brainy," Dick grumbled as he began walking. "If you're so good at knowing all the rules, and if it isn't a test of strength, why can't you be the naked spirit's champion?"

"Weren't you paying attention? You have to be a _living being_ in order to compete in the trials. Something I, regrettably, am not," Brainy answered.

They walked for what seemed like miles, and Dick listened to far more smurfy sayings than he thought any sane person should be forced to endure, before they came across a small, round metal bucket filled with water and apples.

"This is part of the trials?" Dick asked. " _Bobbing for apples_?"

Brainy shrugged. "It is a Halloween tradition, isn't it?" he answered. "Just make sure you put me down first. After being smurfed to death in Gargamel's cauldron, I have no smurfing desire to go bobbing for apples myself."

Dick winced but sat the little guy on the ground before kneeling in front of the bucket. This was so _very_ stupid. Here he was, getting ready to dive for apples as part of a trial to prove the purity of his love for a man who might care for him but certainly didn't _love_ him,  for the sake of some nameless naked spirit who used Brainy Smurf as a guide.

He could never fit this into a letter. Roy would _never, ever_  believe him.

Taking a deep breath and bracing his hands on either side of the bucket, Dick dove in and grabbed the first apple within reach with his teeth. Sitting back on his knees, Dick pulled out a small plastic bag sticking out of the top of the apple. Inside the bag was a small, rolled up piece of paper.

"Well, what's it say?" Brainy asked impatiently.

"It says 'your mate will be masterful and powerful,'" Dick answered, managing not to blush as he said it.

"Very good. Try again," Brainy instructed.

"How many apples do I have to bob for?"

Brainy made a circle with his finger above his head. "There are five trees surrounding the bucket, so five apples it is," he answered. "And if all of them are positive, then we can go on to the next trial. Otherwise..."

Otherwise Batman was stuck in a dungeon god only knew where, Dick thought with a sigh before he dove back in for the second apple. "'Your sweetheart will wait for you,'" he announced, wishing the statement could be true, and not as completely ridiculous as the smurf standing beside him.

"Also good. Try again."

Dick bobbed a third, fourth, and fifth time, receiving a "your love shall outshine the darkness of winter," "you and your mate shall soar above the clouds," and "your relationship will survive many tough trials."

"Well, let's hope that last one is true," Brainy said as the bucket disappeared. Dick repositioned the smurf on his shoulder as they continued their journey and repositioned his hands to cover himself.

"You know, you don't have to put your hands there," Brainy informed Dick. "It's not like I can see your smurfy bits from up here as it is."

"Shut up," Dick snapped, completely unconcerned with being polite.

"My, you're worse than Grouchy Smurf ever was," Brainy remarked. "All that smurfiness over a tiny lack of clothes. Why in Smurfdom, we sometimes went whole weeks without clothes whenever poor Tailor Smurf went on his drinking binges."

"All those smarts, and you couldn't sew your own clothes?" Dick mocked.

"That wasn't my job! I was a _scholar_!" Brainy retorted.

"And all your scholar smarts couldn't have thought to organize an intervention for Tailor Smurf's alcoholism?"

"That wasn't my job either. We had to wait for Baby Smurf to grow up to get his psychology degree." Brainy crossed his arms in irritation. "As Papa Smurf always says, every smurf has his own place."

Dick bit down a retort as they reached a clearing, containing a circular glass table, four cups, and...goblins dressed as his fellow Titans. Dick instinctively covered himself again and demanded angrily, "What exactly is this about?"

"I imagine it's another trial," Brainy answered.

His team had completely dissipated, shortly after Dick had come home, and Dick was pretty sure he would never forgive himself for allowing that to happen. Seeing the creatures dressed up as Wonder Girl, Speedy, and Kid Flash only picked at a wound that was nowhere near ready to scab over.

Seeing Dick's distress, Brainy rolled his eyes. "Would you rather The Powers have picked the _actual_ Wonder Girl, Speedy, and Kid Flash?"

"No," Dick admitted, though privately wishing he could be clothed the way the goblins were.

"Well, then, for smurf's sake, be grateful that they only picked goblins dressed as them," Brainy advised. "Now put on your blindfold so we can get started with the trial."

Only the fact that he had to rescue Batman made Dick swallow down his anger and slide the green blindfold into place. He then waited patiently as Brainy inspected the blindfold for peep holes and explained the rules of the game. "You'll walk around the table three times and then stop. At the end of the third rotation, all four of you will reach down and touch a cup. That contents of that cup will reveal glorious secrets about each of your future love lives."

"And if I get something positive, then we move onto the next trial," Dick guessed.

"The third and last!" Brainy confirmed. "Of course, if you get something negative, then poor Batman is stuck in that nasty dungeon."

With that kind of impetus, Dick had very little choice. He circled around the table three times dutifully, barely managing not to bump into the goblin in front of him, and feeling the grubby hand of the goblin behind him continually bumping into his very obviously naked rear.

At the completion of a third round, Dick leaned down and touched a cup, and Brainy's tiny hands climbed up his ear to remove the blindfold. "Let's see what's smurfing underneath the cup!"

Dick lifted his cup, as did the goblins dressed as his friends. Beneath "Wonder Girl's" cup was an orange blossom, beneath "Kid Flash's" cup was a coin, beneath Dick's cup was a shiny gold ring, and beneath "Speedy's" cup was nothing at all.

"Interesting, very interesting," Brainy agreed. "Well, you passed. Onto the next trial!"

With those words, the goblins and table disappeared.

"But wait, what do they mean?" Dick pressed. Not that he believed any of this, but if he was going to undergo these ridiculous trials, then he might as well know what the little hoops he was jumping through supposedly meant.

"It means that Wonder Girl will be the first to wed, Kid Flash shall know no want, Speedy shall spent his lifetime single, and you...well, you will enjoy a lifetime of devoted love." Brainy sighed and added, "Much like my beloved Smurfette and I."

It would be nice, Dick thought, if he could have any guarantee that his future love life might not be as disastrous as his previous attempts. Oh, so _very_ nice.

He continued following the golden brick road, walking until his feet ached with blisters, his stomach growled with hunger, and his throat itched with the dryness of not having drank all day. The sun had long since set when they finally came upon a large castle, whose gold matched the street beneath Dick's feet.

"This is the last trial," Brainy said. "And I'm not allowed to go in with you, so listen carefully. When you go in, you'll see a mirror, and a plate with a sardine on it. Sit in front of the mirror and eat the sardine. Magic should do the rest."

"Okay." Dick picked the smurf up gently and placed him down on the road. "You can get home okay by yourself?"

"The Powers will take care of me," Brainy assured. "Don't worry about me. Just get in their and take the last trial. Good luck!"

"Thanks," Dick answered. The sound of Brainy's voice singing the annoying "la,la,la,la,la,la,la,la,la" song followed Dick as he walked over the the castle drawbridge, trying not to be startled as the drawbridge slammed shut behind him.

The room was dark as the average East End street on Halloween night, but Dick's eyes were more than used to finding his way in the the dark, and he sat down in front of the mirror and happily ate the sardine, which was barely enough to stop the growling in his stomach.

The saltiness of the food only reminded him of just how thirsty he was. Minutes ticked by and nothing happened, outside of Dick growing thirstier and thirstier - more than he should have, Dick was pretty sure.  His vision swam, and he was unable to actually stand up or do anything but sit weakly in front of the mirror and be certain that he had failed Batman.

Just when he was most certain he had, a vision of Superman appeared in the mirror holding out a a glass of water...which, impossibly extended out of the mirror and into Dick's hand.

Dick was thirsty enough not to question the water, which he happily drank down.

By the time he swallowed his last drop, the castle had melted away in front of him, leaving only him, the very happy naked spirit woman, and an equally naked female partner that she was holding onto.

"Thank you, Robin," the first naked spirit woman said through what looked like tears, if in fact, spirit women could cry. "I've been reunited with my loved one, and I have you to thank for that."

"You promised to release Batman," Robin said immediately, blushing all over again as the second naked spirit woman glanced over his own naked form.

"Of course." A benevolent hand wave later, Dick felt himself falling, no matter how much he tried to stop it.

When he landed, he was still naked, and found himself on the floor of JLA headquarters, staring up at the very much _not_ naked forms of Superman and Batman.

The embarrassment Dick felt was enough to remind him that he would spend the foreseeable future _continuing_ to hate Halloween.


	15. Come Sit Next To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Superman, Batman, and Robin make for a fun team-up.  Jimmy and Dick? Not as much. At least, not according to Dick.

Dick was not exactly fond of Jimmy Olsen. There weren’t any really good reasons for his dislike, as most of the animosity was focused on the very simple fact that the redhead considered himself a close personal friend of the man Dick had wanted since puberty had hit.

And really, Dick didn’t like to think he was that petty, though when in close personal contact with Jimmy, it was hard to think otherwise. Every word the man spoke seemed to be either "Mr. Kent this" or "Superman that," and Dick had to bite down the feeling of superiority he felt with the knowledge that Jimmy wasn’t really _that_ good of a friend if he wasn’t in on the secret.

That was a horrible way to behave and Alfred would be ashamed of him.

Besides, shiny new cub photographers weren’t allowed to be smug. It didn’t fit the role.

Dick scratched the fake nose of his disguise and bit down a sigh before biting into his sandwich. He listened to Jimmy prattle, no matter how much he wasn’t interested in the conversation.

"Tuna fish?" Jimmy wrinkled his nose and poked his own ham sandwich. "Never been a real big fan of tuna fish. Ever since the time with Mr. Kent and the guy who was smuggling in cocaine in the fish crates."

Dick wondered idly how the smugglers had been able to do that without the fish oils ruining the product. "Superman saved you?" he asked, trying again not to feel smug about the fact that he was on this mission as a _partner_ , while Superman’s "pal" was never anything more than a liability needing to be saved.

It had to be a positive, right? Superman … _Clark_ would want someone who could stand next to him in battle, not someone who had to play a damsel in distress. At least, Dick thought so, even if that presumed a lot of things that Dick wasn’t sure of, like Clark’s single status, the relationship Clark had shared with Bruce, or the always impossible to read question of whether Clark could ever _want_ Dick the _way_ Dick wanted Clark.

Ever since the incident with Metal Eddie, Dick had grown certain that Clark did _care_ for him, but for all Dick could tell, that "care" might have been as platonic as care _Alfred_ had for him. Which, as far as thoughts went, was about as depressing as they came.

"He sure did!" Jimmy said with a cheerfulness that did not belong in a conversation about tuna. "But let me tell you, after spending an hour in a lead-lined tuna crate, I could go a long, long time without ever eating a tuna sandwich again."

Dick bit into his sandwich slowly and took his turn eating it with a bright smile on his face. Unfortunately, his silence allowed Jimmy to continue talking. "Of course, the skirt and heels made it even worse."

Had he actually choked on the sandwich, Dick knew that Garth would have considered it poetic justice for his meal choice. "Skirt and heels?" he asked when he could breathe again.

Jimmy looked extremely frustrated, and squirmed in his chair before stuttering an answer. "I was _undercover_ ," he said quickly. "It’s not like I like dressing up in women’s clothing. I had to dress in drag to get _the story._ " Jimmy frowned and glared at Dick. "If you’re going to be in the newspaper business, you have to be able to understand that sometimes we make sacrifices to get the scoop."

Dick didn’t bother to hide his eye roll. "I think it doesn’t matter why you wear women’s clothing, Olsen," he said with a shrug. "I just think you should learn to dress more practically than heels and a skirt."

"Huh?" Jimmy asked, and Dick took a perverse pleasure in seeing the other man confused.

"Not all women wear skirts and heels," Dick explained patiently. "Take Lois Lane, for example. Think she would ever go chasing a story in an outfit that hindered her pursuit?"

"No…" Jimmy agreed, then blushed again. "But I don’t like wearing women’s clothing. I mean…really. Just for a story."

The lady doth protest too much, Dick thought and continued, "Even Vicki Vale would agree that a nice pair of slacks and some flats are much more sane for walking around a pier looking for coked up tuna fish, don’t you think, Jimmy?"

"Wow. You think so? Vicki Vale is one of my biggest idols, outside of Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane," Jimmy breathed in the same, exuberant way that Dick was sure he had spoken Clark’s name back when he’d first met him.

Dick really hoped he didn’t sound that pathetic these days.

"Sure she would. Vicki Vale always wears exactly what she wants, and doesn’t let anyone tell her any differently," Dick answered. "So I’m sure she’d tell you that if you want to wear a women‘s clothing, you should knock yourself out and quit hiding behind the story to do it."

Jimmy was quiet for a minute, and Dick worried he’d been too harsh. But when he looked back up at him, Jimmy grasped his hand and squeezed. "Gee, thanks, Troy. That was…the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Now I get what Mr. Kent sees in you."

Dick shrugged. "He sees an ambitious photographer who wants to make his mark in the newspaper business?"

Jimmy laughed. "Come on, Troy. You know my secret, it’s not like you can’t feel free to share yours." He paused and added, "It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know all about your secret."

Dick blinked hard at Jimmy. "My secret?" he asked, his mind already working overtime to try to figure out when or how he’d been careless enough to reveal _his_ secret.

"Yeah, about you and Mr. Kent," Jimmy confirmed, and Dick felt himself relax, even as his confusion grew. At least Jimmy wasn’t on to the _real_ secret. "I mean, you’re a nice guy, Troy, don’t get me wrong, but as a photographer? You kind of stink."

Dick blinked and tugged on his bow tie indignantly. "I do not!" he protested, because while he found the critique amusing, "Troy Harper" probably would not, and some indignation was necessary in order to keep his cover.

"Yeah…you kind of do," Jimmy protested with a sympathetic head shake. "It’s okay and all…but this is the Daily Planet, and as far as the rumor mill is concerned, there’s only one way you could have gotten this job…add to that the fact that you’re pretty cozy with Mr. Kent…" Jimmy blushed at the very insinuation he was explaining, and when Dick’s mind figured out what Jimmy was trying to imply, he blushed as well and that wasn‘t part of his cover at all.

"You think I got a job as a photographer by s-sleeping with Clark?" Really, he shouldn’t have stuttered so hard. It wasn’t like he was a virgin anymore.

Though, it wasn’t like he was sleeping with Clark, either.

"Oh, no!" Jimmy said immediately. "General belief is that you got it _because_ you’re sleeping with Clark. Different kind of thing."

Growing up in Wayne Manor, Dick had prided himself on being pretty sophisticated, when the occasion called for it, and the kind of rumor that had a person "sleeping their way to the top" wasn’t new to him (if the position of cub photographer could ever be called "the top.") Even when they weren’t accurate, those kind of rumors surrounded a lot of people in Gotham. But he had to admit that Jimmy’s logic, if it could be called that, completely confused him.

Apparently seeing his confusion, Jimmy elaborated, "Mr. Kent isn’t really powerful enough to give you the job, so you couldn’t get it _by_ sleeping with him. But as one of the best reporters we have, he is powerful enough to have gotten his boy toy’s foot in the door."

"Boy toy," Dick repeated, because it was the only response his mind was capable of.

Jimmy nodded then hastily added, "No one thinks any less of you, of course. I mean, they do because you’re a crappy photographer, but not because you're sleeping with Mr. Kent."

"I..see." Dick cursed the overactive imagination that was determined to imagine how that course of events would work, exactly.

"Besides, 'because' is much better than 'by,’" Jimmy explained. "It means Mr. White had to see something in you that we don’t in order for you to get the job…unlike Steven down in the mailroom who is only sorting envelops as we speak _because_ he’s sleeping with Gretchen. And the boy is worse at sorting mail than you are at taking shots."

Dick heard Clark approaching long before Jimmy did, but he supposed there was no reason Troy Harper, cub photographer, should have such good observation skills, so Dick focused on finishing his tuna sandwich and hiding the smirk he wanted to give his lunch companion when Jimmy’s eyes widened in surprise as Clark walked up and laid a hand on Dick's shoulder.

"M-Mr. Kent," Jimmy stuttered. "We were just talking about you."

Dick wouldn’t really have choked on the tuna, but Clark’s reassuring pat was a nice sensation on his back regardless.

"Really? You‘ll have to fill me in on what you were discussing later," Clark said, and Dick stopped wondering if he was imagining the sardonic tone when he met Jimmy’s eyes and saw the embarrassment hidden in them.

"Sure thing, Mr. Kent," Jimmy promised, and the boy sounded sincere enough that Dick was pretty sure he _would_ tell all, if Clark wanted him too.

It was a good thing Clark would never _actually_ do that. Well, good for Jimmy at any rate.

"If you’ll excuse us, Jimmy, Troy and I have some things to discuss," Clark said, and as Dick stood up, he lost all sympathy he had for Jimmy. The other man was smirking at _him._

It was too bad Clark would never actually make Jimmy confess his evilness, Dick thought.

The majority of Dick’s irritation left him as Robin joined Superman and Batman in flight. One small fight later, the case was solved, and the Homicidal Former Copy Boy’s reign of terror over Gotham and Metropolis ended thanks to the combined efforts of the World’s Finest. Or, as Dick liked to think of it, the World’s Finest plus one.

Superman flew them back to Gotham, and Dick tried really hard not to think about his conversation with Jimmy the entire way home.

~~~~

Someday, Lex was sure, people were going to stop thinking they could pull one over on him in his own city. Even that alien would one day wise up, and realize that there was nothing that could occur in Metropolis that would escape Lex Luthor’s notice.

As he glanced through the photos so helpfully taken by the latest fool to be foiled by the Superman/Batman team, his eyes fell upon the third man in the photo.

Robin. A mere child, by all reports, though admittedly, it was not a childish body filling out that suit. The Joker was a fool, and Lex supposed it was entirely possible that he had hallucinated any childish qualities.

Still, any way anyone looked at it, Robin was definitely the weakest link in the team up. More importantly, anyone looking at the photos could tell by the sheer closeness and body language, that the boy was important to the alien.

The scientist in Lex looked forward to seeing if Kryptonian weaknesses were as easy to exploit as the human counterparts.


	16. All But The Things That Cannot Be Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Superman saves people. It's what he does. Dick knows this, but the knowledge isn't actually helpful this time around.

_"Adversity is like a strong wind.  It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are."  ~Arthur Golden._   


Waking up bound to a pole and wrapped in a straight jacket in a place he didn’t recognize wasn’t exactly the highlight of Dick Grayson’s day. In fact, it rang a little too close to the "Boy Hostage" snide remarks that the stupider of their villains said in Robin‘s earshot, and that smart ones said outside of earshot. Such a nasty little cliché, one that implied Dick wasn’t capable of holding his own.

It was annoying, but one that all the sidekicks could relate too, and Dick made a note to place a carefully coded anecdote about the experience in his next letter to Speedy.

The minute he squirmed in attempt to dislocate his shoulder in an attempt to get free, Dick’s resolve for letter writing made the conditional amendment that he would write and complain to Roy _only_ if he was able to somehow escape. Considering the shock that ran through his body at the first squirm, the rational part of Dick’s mind was willing to concede that there was a large possibility that he wouldn’t.

"I was wondering how long it would take for you to be stupid." The voice came from behind Dick, and the coldness and sheer arrogance would have revealed the speaker’s identity, even if Dick hadn’t been working with Batman and Superman on a case against the Joker and this particular rogue.

"I’ll be honest, I expected someone trained by the World’s Greatest Detective to take a lot longer to make such an error in judgment," Luthor continued, coming around to stand in front of Dick.

"Sorry to disappoint," Dick retorted.

"I fight Superman every day," Luthor continued. "Every plan, every thought, every _second_ is consumed with destroying Earth’s _mightiest_ hero. Did you really think I wouldn't be prepared for a ordinary little boy like yourself?"

"Sounds like you need some _help_ ," Dick noted. "I’m sure Superman will get you some in that nice gray prison you’re headed for."

Luthor’s laugh wasn’t as maniacal as the Joker’s. It was lower and more controlled, the laugh of a business man who got away with murder by lying and conniving instead of by busting out of prisons the way the Joker did.

The laugh was every bit as insane as the Joker’s, though.

"Counting on the Big Boyscout to rescue you?" Luthor mocked.

Had he been referring to anyone else, that would have sounded pretty humiliating. Dick was pretty sure Luthor intended it to be. Still, they weren’t talking about getting rescued by the _Elongated Man_. "It’s Superman. That’s what he does."

"Oh, I’m counting on it," Luthor cooed. "I figure it will take him a while to find our little bunker, seeing as it’s encased with lead. But once you miss your meeting point - you still have a good ten minutes? - he’ll start to grow worried. And then he'll come to find you. He might even be foolish enough to bring the Bat."

"That would doubly suck for you," Dick said loyally. "Considering that you haven’t even been able to beat _Superman_ by yourself yet."

Luthor’s mouth twisted into a combination of angry scowl and smirk, as though half of his brain knew that Dick was right, but the foolish portion that always believed he’d be able to best Superman wanted to argue. "Batman is _no_ Superman," Luthor said derisively. "I assure you, Robin, I have plans for Daddy Dearest should he plan to show up…why wouldn’t I? Lording the Bat’s death over that damn clown for the rest of his days would be one of the sweeter victories I have known."

Dick’s hands twisted automatically at the mention that Bruce might be in trouble, and he was rewarded with his efforts by yet another shock.

Luthor’s _tsks_ were close enough and obnoxious enough that the spit from the act got on Dick’s face.

He couldn’t so much as reach up and wipe it off. Which was maddening, but not nearly as much as the casual way Luthor removed his handkerchief from his front pocket.  "Not the smartest Bat in the belfry, are you?"

Luthor’s hands, the same ones that had so often held Kryptonite, the same ones that wanted to hurt Clark, began carefully avoiding the spit he’d gotten on Dick’s face in order to wipe off the sweat lining Dick’s forehead caused by the many shocks Dick had received in trying to get free.

The spittle remained in place, serving as a taunting reminder to Dick of his helplessness.

"The Alien certainly isn’t fawning over you because of your _brain_ ," Luthor remarked. "There must be something else in it for him."

There was really only one person Luthor spoke of with such obvious disdain, yet the image of Clark fawning over Dick was almost laughable.

Surely, not even Lex Luthor was crazy enough to believe _that_. Even Dick, in his greatest delusions had never really considered…never really allowed himself to hope that he’d ever matter _that_ much to Clark.

"Yeah, locking up creeps like you," Dick retorted. It wasn’t, admittedly, his best comeback, but they were hard to come up with when you had to hold your head perfectly still in order not to send electricity coursing through your body.

"Not that I blame him," Luthor continued, as though Dick hadn’t said a word. His hands rested on either side of Dick’s face and every muscle in Dick cried out with the urge to shake those hands off. "The Bat does pick them young, pretty, and naïve…reminds me of a farm boy I knew once. Complete with the same tragic end, appropriately enough given that today _too_ shall be the stuff of legends. " Nails dug angrily into Dick’s skin and Dick sensed immediately that the anger wasn’t truly directed at Dick or Superman. "Perhaps after The Alien is disposed of, I will sample his little toy a bit myself."

Dick responded by purposefully squirming enough to send shock waves through them himself and through the hand that was still touching his cheek.

After Luthor recovered, the punch that he gave Dick was harder than Dick had expected. It made sense for a crime lord to be able to throw a good punch, but Luthor spent so much time relying on maniacal robots and little pieces of rock that Dick occasionally forgot that aspect of Luthor.

Regardless, a punch was far better than being fondled by Superman’s worst nemesis, even if it did break Dick‘s jaw.

"There’s are ways to make you _compliant_ ," Luthor hissed. "You are, after all, only _human_."

"Being human’s not so bad. You should try it sometime," Dick retorted, ignoring the implicit threat.

It wasn’t the first time that particular threat had been cast his way. Gotham was full of pretty sick people, and much of the similar threats that were hurled at him were much more graphic than Luthor’s promised coercion.

"I was going to gag you," Luthor commented, and there were probably mice that could stare up at oncoming hawks and feel less like prey than Dick did under Luthor’s gaze. "But that would take the satisfaction of hearing you scream when you watch The Alien’s fate."

Luthor’s shoes clicked as sharply as Vicki Vale’s heels as he walked away, and Dick watched him go until it would have required turning his head.

He told himself not to worry about Clark or Bruce; he might have been foolish enough to get himself captured by Lex Luthor (not that there was any shame in getting foiled by an evil genius of Luthor’s caliber) but Clark and Bruce were better than that. They were _Superman_ and _Batman._

They’d be fine. Better than fine. They’d _win._

No matter what the nagging little worry in the pit of Dick’s stomach may have thought to the contrary.

~~~~~~

Dick had heard the sound of the roof being ripped off a building before. He wasn’t new at the hero stuff, and both Donna’s mentor and Clark had the ability to rip the tops of houses off when the urge or need was there.

But this time, Dick’s heart beat increased tenfold as the familiar sound of stretching and tearing of building materials reached his ears. Luthor’s taunts grew louder in his mind as the familiar red, blue and yellow blur came into view. It was a marginal second after Superman’s colors came into view that the blur was falling - _just like his parents_ \- out of the sky and onto the floor of the bunker.

Even once on the floor, Superman didn’t give up. He continued squirming, each move looking like it was killing him.

"Such a simpleton," Luthor scoffed as he came to stand over his fallen prize. "Did you think I wouldn’t be ready for you, Alien? When I have I _not_ been?"

Dick couldn’t take his eyes off of Clark, curled in a fetal position on the floor. "Let t-the boy go, Luthor," he commanded, despite the pain he was in.

_The boy._ That was exactly what Dick was, it occurred to him at that moment. A poor, useless boy who was going to get Superman killed because he needed rescued, like some poor damsel in distress.

Luthor’s laugh echoed throughout the bunker as he slowly removed a knife from his coat jacket. "You are in no position to make demands, Superman. I stopped you with something as ridiculous as _paint._ Kryptonite-laden _paint._ And now you can’t get up to defend yourself, let alone the poor boy." A long, slow stroke of the knife followed. "Such a pretty little toy you have, Alien. I look forward to enjoying him at my leisure later."

Green paint. Just like the knife in Luthor’s hand - Dick should have known. He should have called out a warning.

"N-no…" Clark struggled and looked at Dick apologetically from his spot on the floor.

"You, of course, will be dead. At long last."  Luthor laughed again as he thrust the knife into Clark's chest.

Dick lost count of the number of times the knife was raised and thrust into Clark’s chest. He jerked in his bonds, trying desperately to get free, no matter how painful his escape might have been. The last thing he saw before blacking out was an addition of a black swirl to the red, blue, and green.

It was almost enough to bring him hope as he lapsed into unconsciousness.


	17. Ourselves as we really are

//Falling.

Standing on a ledge in a city with a sun bright and hot against his back.

Reaching out. Trying to catch them.

Mom. Dad. Roy. Donna. Wally. Garth.

Alfred. 

Clark. 

Bruce.

Still falling. Can’t catch -//

"Robin. Robin." The voice was calm and cut through the haze of panic and screams in his dream. 

But the calm face of Batman staring down at him did nothing to alleviate the fear that stirred in Dick the minute he woke up and his last memories came flooding back.

"Superman?" he asked immediately, struggling against the hands that held him down. 

"You need to rest," Batman instructed. His voice was harsh, but it was a harsh Bruce voice, which told Dick everything that he needed to know about how tired and worn his mentor was, to be using that voice. For Bruce, masks were everything, and that went for voices as well. That he wasn’t using either the fop voice, or the Batman one made Dick more frightened than he already was. 

Dick pushed impatiently against Bruce’s hands and forced his way into a sitting position. It was then, and only then, that he recognized the cold breeze that blew over his unprotected legs and made him really, really think pants were a wise idea. 

He was in the Fortress, Dick realized belatedly, and while it wasn’t the first time, it did fill Dick with a kind of hope that it hadn’t before. 

"Is Clark okay?" he asked, because the best way to get an answer out of Batman was to be blunt. 

There was the tiniest of pauses and while Dick had never heard that kind of pause before, he did instantly know that it was the kind of pause that could kill every ounce of hope Dick possessed. "Bruce?" he said softly. It was stupid to use names, when they were in costume, and Dick really knew better, even in a place as "safe" as the Fortress. 

The fact that Bruce didn’t correct him only made the worry in Dick’s gut twist even further. 

"He’s in good hands," Bruce assured Dick. "Alfred -"

"Why Alfred?" Alfred was good for them, but Clark was out of their league, and so was kryptonite. "You should have taken him to the Justice League. They know how to deal with kryptonite."

"So does Alfred," Bruce said shortly. 

"Since when?" Dick asked. "I’ve never seen him - "

"Since a year before you came along," Bruce answered. "Because if one thing’s not changed, it’s that Clark has never quite figured out how to look before he leaps." 

The words were harsh, and to a stranger, the tone might have sounded equally harsh. But Dick had known Bruce long enough to realize that rarely used wistful tone, one usually reserved for Catwoman. Dick was acutely aware that this time, the wistfulness was his own fault. "He was trying to rescue me." 

Things had definitely changed between Dick and Bruce. Everyone, from Speedy to Clark to Alfred to the Flash (why the Flash cared, Dick didn’t know) told Dick that the distance between him and his mentor was part of growing up (though Wally and his mentor didn’t seem to have it, nor did Donna and her mentor.) 

Dick didn’t much believe them. He figured most of the time it was something very specific to Bruce and himself. Somedays, he figured it might be his own doing.

But whatever it was, it had created enough of a gap that Dick definitely didn’t expect Bruce’s response to his statement to be to sit down on the examining table and wrap an arm around Dick’s shoulders. 

Dick might have expected it, once, but he’d long since stopped. He did, however, instinctively lean into the touch. 

"Saving people is what Clark does," Bruce said, in a voice that hadn’t been that gentle since the night Dick had come to live at the Manor. 

"What Superman does," Dick corrected, because Clark was the one who took him horse back riding, helped him decorate barns for Christmas, and listened to him be confused about his sexuality. Superman, on the other hand, had to be nice to everybody. This close to losing them both - the first time his faith in Alfred had ever wavered, Dick thought - it was a very important distinction to make. 

"No. Saving people is what Clark does," Bruce said in that same tired voice that didn’t sound right on Robin’s mentor. "Superman is just the silly disguise that lets him. Saving people will always be what Clark does, and anyone who’s going to have a relationship with Clark has to know that."

Dick blinked at Bruce in surprise. "I - I don’t have a relationship with Clark."

The tips of Bruce’s lips turned slightly, neither up, nor down, as though they couldn’t quite make up their mind whether they wanted to smile or frown. "Not yet." 

‘And maybe never,’ Dick thought, but he didn’t voice it, because apparently, they were pretending that Clark was going to be okay. Which seemed like a better plan of action than voicing his fears, so Dick continued along the same path. "But I thought you and he are…were…?"

Bruce looked at Dick intently. "I was unaware you knew about that. Clark told you?" 

"Um, you kind of gave yourself away. During the sex pollen incident."

Bruce didn’t wince, but he did take in a deeper breath than Dick was used to, and with his arm still around Dick’s shoulders, Dick could feel it as easy as he could feel a wince. "We were," Bruce responded. "A long time ago."

"What happened?" Dick asked, because today, here in the Fortress, was the only time he had ever thought that he might actually get an answer to a question that he had wondered since the initial realization that Bruce had ended things between himself and Clark. "I mean, it’s Superman. Why would you …?"

"Why would I let him go?" Bruce’s short laugh was unexpected, and somehow incredibly appropriate to the bitter cold of the Fortress. "Because the last time I was here, in this Fortress, waiting on Alfred to save Clark’s life, I knew I’d do anything to keep from repeating the experiencee."

"So you broke up with him to keep it from happening?" 

"No. I ended things between us because the very next battle proved to me that I was incapable of being in a relationship with Clark while we had to fight together."

"How?" It was pushing, far beyond what Dick normally would have, but it was far better to push Bruce on this matter than to focus on the fact that Alfred was still operating on Clark.

There was a long pause, long enough that Dick began straining to hear the click-click of Alfred’s tools against the steel of Clark’s skin. He was tempted to turn his head to try to follow the sound with his eyes when Bruce answered his question. 

"There was a battle. He was…injured. I saw him fall, and left my post. If the Flash had been a second slower…" Bruce tightened his grip on Dick’s shoulder. "Four people almost died that day, because I was foolish enough to let my feelings for Clark get in the way. I won’t let that happen again. Dating Clark messed with my judgment, and that’s not something Batman can allow."

"Dating Clark impedes the mission?" Dick asked in disbelief. 

"Yes," Bruce answered simply. 

"Are you still - I mean…do you still have feelings for him? I mean, you can’t just turn those off," Dick argued. In the back of his mind, he was very conscious of the fact that the click-click of Alfred’s tools had abruptly stopped. 

Dick was terrified, both that the surgery had stopped for the wrong reasons, and that the conversation would end before he got all the information he needed, and it was far simpler to focus on the latter.

"I made a decision to let him go," Bruce said simply. "And that hasn’t changed. Nor is it going to."

"I couldn’t…I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t make that decision about someone I love." It was barely above a whisper, and Dick wasn’t sure he should have said it at all.

"I put on this costume so that no one would have to become that man that I became," Bruce responded. "It’s always been my greatest wish that you stay a better man that I am, Dick, and I have no doubt that you won't repeat my mistakes."

Bruce stood up then, and before Dick could protest that he had more questions, Bruce asked to the figure over Dick’s shoulder, "How is he, Alfred?"

"He’s in a good deal better shape than my tools, Master Wayne," Alfred said ruefully, and at the tease, Dick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

He never should have doubted Alfred. 

"However, I do believe he requires assistance in making it to the sun bathing chamber," Alfred continued. "In order to regain the strength that vile knife sapped from him."

Bruce nodded, and turned to Dick. "Come, Robin. Superman needs our help." 

It was Batman’s voice that commanded him, and Robin used that as the excuse he needed to run to Superman’s side.


	18. And Kill the Envious Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   In the aftermath of the Luthor incident, Bruce has a chat with Clark. Meanwhile, Donna and Dick take a trip.

_"Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,  
who is already sick and pale with grief -" Shakespeare_

Dick hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the Titans until Donna showed up at the Manor, unannounced (at least unannounced to Dick; Alfred seemed quite unsurprised) and requested that he join her for the day.

Considering everything that he and Bruce had been through over the past week, Dick felt obligated to clear it with Bruce first. As Donna waited patiently just outside the living room, Dick interrupted Bruce’s reading of the _Gotham Times_.

"Do we have anything planned for the day?" Dick asked.

Bruce glanced up, first at Dick and then beyond Dick’s shoulder at Donna. "No," Bruce responded simply before returning his attention to the paper.

"Are you sure?" Dick bit his lip. Bruce had been acting strangely since the whole incident with Luthor, and since Dick took full responsibility for what happened, he wanted to try to make it better.

"I’m quite sure. You and Donna have a good time," Bruce responded.

"We could schedule another day if -"

"Dick." Bruce folded the paper over in his lap and looked up at Dick with an intensity that usually only came during the most strenuous of training practices. Dick always knew that look coming from Bruce meant he would hear nothing less than the most brutal of truths. "Dick, you’ll be 18 soon. You’re far too old for me to demand that you stop spending time with someone you care about."

"Okay. We’ll be back around two?" Dick asked, tossing the question over his shoulder to Donna.

"Nah," Donna insisted with a shake of her head. Dick wondered if he’d ever get used to Donna not wearing a ponytail. He didn’t think so - it didn’t look _right_ somehow. "Better make it later. Ten or Eleven."

"That’s awfully late," Dick noted.

"That’s fine," Bruce said, picking up his paper. "Just make it back in time for patrol."

Dick frowned slightly, but nodded. "See you later," he said as he turned to follow Donna.

The only reply from Bruce was a slight rustling of the paper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an hour after Dick had left with Donna that Bruce stepped into Clark’s apartment. Unlike Bruce’s previous engagement at the Kent apartment, Bruce didn’t have to wait for Clark to return. Bruce’s former lover was standing in the middle of the kitchen making breakfast when Bruce entered.

"Bruce," Clark greeted, without turning his back as he flipped the bacon. He sounded cheerful enough, and the contrast of that sound to the gasping breaths Clark had taken a week ago when Batman had rescued Superman from Luthor was a contrast that Bruce consciously had to force from his mind.

"Still reading people’s heartbeats?" Bruce inquired as he shut the window and walked across the apartment.

"Every night before I go to bed and morning before I wake. That’s how I know the ones I care about are safe," Clark answered. The bacon was flipped onto two plates, one with eggs and toast, and one without. The eggless and toastless plate was set on the kitchen counter in front of Bruce along with a cup of black coffee.

"You know I prefer fruit in the mornings," Bruce reminded.

"I know you _like_ bacon better," Clark answered, moving to get the cream and sugar for his own coffee. "Besides, you already had the healthy breakfast from Alfred."

Weak logic, the logical part of his mind argued. But as Clark ruined his perfectly good cup of coffee, Bruce wrapped one hand protectively around his own cup and allowed himself the luxury of a small bite of the bacon.

He’d never tell Alfred, but the farmboy could make better bacon than Bruce’s English butler any day of the week.

"So what brings you here?" Clark asked once his cup of coffee was sufficiently ruined, as he sat across the counter from Bruce.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," Bruce answered truthfully. "Last week was rough on you."

"I’m fine," Clark answered with a smile that was too bright to be genuine on anyone else, but seemed just perfect on Clark. "A little bit of sunshine and I healed up perfectly. One of the advantages to not being human."

"Hhn." Bruce didn’t answer as he took in Clark’s appearance, his detective eyes looking for any proof that Clark wasn’t being entirely truthful.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had barely cleared the front steps before Donna was shedding her "normal clothes" in favor of her costume and an hour later, they were still in the sky. Dick supposed he should protest. He should at least be bothered about the fact that there was a clear Donna and Alfred conspiracy going on.

But it was _flying_. As far as weaknesses went, flying was high at the top of his list, and there wasn’t a Titan who didn’t realize it.

So Dick shut up and he didn’t complain. He chose instead to relish the feel of the air whipping through his hair and the ease with which his Titan sister switched him from hand to hand, and occasionally to her feet, allowing him to perform the kind of acrobatic routine in the air that they’d perfected back when there had still been a Teen Titans.

Donna hid them in the clouds, allowing them the kind of privacy they needed as they flew from Gotham to a small island which Dick estimated to be 20 miles from the equator.

"An island?" Dick asked, twisting his head up to look at her.

"Hey, it’s not Paradise, but it’ll do," Donna responded. She gently set Dick down on the sand before landing beside him. "Besides, it’s uninhabited - the better to poke and prod in your personal business."

Dick rolled his eyes but followed Donna’s lead as she sat down cross-legged on the warm sand. "So Alfred _did_ put you up to this," he said suspiciously.

"Nope," Donna answered. "Not at all. Well…not unless he was the one to call Diana and suggest I ‘spend the day with friends.’ Which  is possible."

"Diana’s quite fond of Alfred," Dick agreed with a nod. He was slightly disappointed that Diana had been the reason for Donna’s sudden appearance, but he supposed with the break-up of the Titans, that’s just how things were going to be from now on.

"Who isn’t?" Donna asked cheerfully.

"True enough." Dick watched her lean back on her arms and watched the sun dance throughout her hair as it framed her face. "I miss the ponytail," he told her.

"I miss the short pants," Donna replied with a wink.

"Hey, I still wear the short pants," Dick laughed. "Just not during the day."

"That’s a shame. That’s one bet Gar lost," Donna laughed.

"My friends. Such comedians," Dick scoffed.

"Absolutely," Donna agreed. "And there’s this one part of their act that is _hilarious._ "

"Oh, really?" Dick asked dryly. "I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure of hearing that routine."

"Oh, but you have," Donna insisted. "It’s called the great tickling of Dick Grayson. Usually it requires all four other Titans to hold Dick down, but I’m pretty strong. I could probably tickle and hold you down at the same time."

"You wouldn’t," Dick challenged.

Donna grinned brightly at him before she pounced.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The coffee in Clark’s cup was about half way gone when he realized that he and Bruce had sat through a mostly silent breakfast. It wasn’t like Bruce to be particularly chatty, of course, but the man was still prone to coming out with whatever was on his mind.

This morning, however, Clark had to prod slightly. "What’s on your mind, Bruce?" he asked. "You’re not just here to check up on me. If that was the case, you would have sent Diana."

Bruce didn’t deny that fact. He pushed the empty plate of bacon - a victory in Clark’s eyes - to the side. "I want to talk about Dick."

Clark hadn‘t expected that. "Is he okay?" Clark asked anxiously. He’d never forgive himself for allowing Luthor to hurt Dick as badly as he had.

"He’s fine. He’s spending the day with Donna Troy," Bruce answered. Bruce took a deep breath before squaring his shoulders and continuing, "He was worried about you, while you were sick. More worried than I’ve ever seen him."

"He’s a sensitive kid," Clark responded simply. "He’s always been sensitive."

"Hardly a kid. He’ll be eighteen in two months," Bruce answered. "Something I’m sure you’re well aware of."

"I’m not sure what you mean," Clark responded, folding his hands on top of the countertop.

Bruce frowned at him, as though he suspected that Clark wasn’t being truthful. "You promised me once that you’d never make him choose between us," Bruce replied. "I came here to let you know that I won’t force him to choose either."

"That’s quite a change of heart," Clark said lightly. "What brought that on?"

"Time," Bruce replied. "A lot’s changed in the past two years for all three of us."

"Especially for Dick," Clark agreed, remembering the confused teenager that he’d found a mere two weeks after Dick’s seventeenth birthday. "But that wouldn’t be enough. Not for you."

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. "While Alfred operated on you, I was explaining to Dick why you and I could never be together. The whole time, I remembered the last time you were hurt, and I was reminded of a story my father used to tell."

"Oh?" It was rare to hear Bruce speak of his parents, and Clark tried not to let his curiosity show.

"He used to tell a story about a philosopher who asked his students whether the sun or moon was more important. One of the students replied that the moon was more important, because without the moon nighttime would be pitch dark," Bruce recounted.

"It’s a reasonable answer," Clark agreed. "It _is_ important that there be light for the nighttime sky."

"But far more important that the daytime have the sun," Bruce responded as he stood up, signaling the conversation to be over. "Thank you for the bacon. I have to be getting back to Gotham."

"Thanks for stopping by," Clark answered. There was more that Clark wanted to ask, but his questions went unasked as he watched Bruce depart the way he had come.

It was bittersweet to watch Bruce go. Clark wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the sense of finality that came every time Bruce departed a room since they’d broken up.

But more importantly, Clark wondered if Bruce would ever realize that the sun and the moon were _equally_ important.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So what did Batgirl do?" Donna asked as she laid back on the sand next to a red faced Dick. True to her word, she had tickled him senseless, and acrobat stamina had been no match to the strength of a Wonder Girl determined to tickle Dick into breathlessness.

"What do you mean?" Dick asked with a head tilt as he leaned back on the sand next to her.

"Well, I figure she did something to break your heart," Donna answered. "That’s why you were so mopey."

Dick shook his head. "Batgirl is quite unaware I’m a member of the male species," he pointed out. "She’d actually have to be aware of that before she could break my heart."

"Not really. You could be mopey over the fact that she doesn’t know you have a penis," Donna said seriously.

Dick laughed as he shook his head. "I could be mopey over being electrocuted by Lex Luthor last week," he pointed out.

Donna reached out and hugged him tightly but quickly dismissed that as a possibility. "You’re Robin. You don’t mope over injuries. Especially not your own," she pointed out. "So who is she or he and how did they break your heart?"

"It’s kind of a long story," Dick said reluctantly as he hugged her back.

"We’re kind of all alone and have ten hours left before I have to get you back home," Donna answered. "So unless you’re story is longer than ten hours…"

"I don’t suppose I could say it’s personal and drop it at that?" Dick asked.

"You could. But I’m pretty sure I could tickle you into submission." Donna raised and wiggled her fingers in warning.

"Alright!" Dick laughed. "There’s this guy that I like and he … he used to be in a relationship with someone else that I care about."

"Definitely awkward," Donna agreed with another hug.

"They cared about each other a lot," Dick continued. "But they broke up because….well, because one of them thought the other would get in the way of his job."

"So one of them is Batman," Donna surmised. At Dick’s surprised look, she explained, "I can’t see anyone else in our group that would ditch someone they cared about because of ‘the mission.’"

"Well, that’s probably true…Aquaman, maybe," Dick suggested.

"Okay, Batman is at least in possession of sex appeal. I never want to imagine Aquaman naked," Donna said firmly.

"But you’re okay with imagining Batman naked?" Dick asked curiously.

Donna shrugged. "Hey, that dark, broody, bad boy thing? Definitely has its appeal."

"Yeah," Dick said softly. "It does."

"To your guy, or to you?" Donna asked neutrally.

"Donna! To the guy, not to me." Dick blushed at the insinuation.

Donna frowned slightly. "But I thought you said they broke up."

"They did," Dick answered. "But I’m just not sure that the guy and Batman will ever be over each other, you know?"

"Did they love each other?" Donna asked. "Or was it just about the sex?"

Dick blushed again. Sometimes, probably as a side effect of living primarily with women, Donna could be incredibly blunt. "They loved each other. A lot."

"Then of course they won’t ever get over each other," Donna replied. "Would you want them to?"

"Well, yeah," Dick answered.

"Dick, think about that for a minute. If you really care about this guy, would you want to enter a relationship with him knowing that he’s in it for a fun time and that you’ll be easily forgotten a few miles down the road, after he’s done using you?" Donna asked.

"Well, no," Dick admitted. "But I don’t want to just be a substitute for Bruce, either."

"Oh, Dick. You’ll never be that." Donna hugged him a third time.

"But Donna…what if Diana was dating, I don’t know…Black Canary," Dick argued. "And then they broke up, and you realized you were attracted to Black Canary. Wouldn’t you wonder if you could ever be as important to Black Canary as _Wonder Woman_?"

"I guess that would depend," Donna answered. "On how much I trusted Black Canary."

"No it -"

"It would," Donna argued. "Do you think this guy would ever purposefully use you?"

"No….not on purpose…."

"Do you think he’s dumb enough not to be able to tell the difference?"

"Well, no, he’s one of the smarter guys I know, but …

"Look at this way," Donna suggested. "When you’re in the room with Batgirl, you’re definitely attracted to her, and think she’s gorgeous, right? Because she obviously is."

"Yes," Dick admitted. "She is."

"She’s also a good friend of yours, and someone you care a lot about. And that won’t change, no matter who you get involved with, right?" Donna prodded.

"Right," Dick agreed. "But I never dated Batgirl."

"Would you, if she would have agreed?" Donna asked.

"Probably," Dick admitted, thinking of Barbara in that green dress she had worn on their "date."

"Yet, when you’re with your guy do you ever think about Batgirl instead?" Donna pressed.

"No," Dick said firmly. "I don’t."

"So it’s the same way for Superman and Batman," Donna said confidently.

"Hey, I never said anything about Superman," Dick protested feebly.

"Sure you did. He’s the only one that matches the criteria of caring strongly about you _and_ Batman. Well, besides, Alfred," Donna responded. "So anyway, I’m sure Superman will always care for Batman, always find him attractive, and maybe would still be with him today if things had gone differently. But it doesn’t mean he’d rather be with Batman, and it doesn’t mean that Superman views you as a substitute. Any more than Superman is substitute for Batgirl for you."

"But...but what if Batman still cares about him?" Dick protested. Because it was quite apparent during their time in the Fortress that was true. "Even if Bruce would never change his mind and go back - he's too damn stubborn for that, I know - how can I let myself be with someone if it's going to hurt Bruce? I love them both - in very different ways - and I wouldn't want to hurt either of them."

"Dick, weren't you paying attention before we left?" Donna asked curiously. "Bruce already told you to go for it."

"Huh?" Dick asked. "No he didn't."

"Sure he did.  'Dick, you’ll be 18 soon. You’re far too old for me to demand that you stop spending time with someone you care about,'" Donna quoted. "In other words, you're almost an adult. Feel free to date Supes."

Dick frowned slightly. "You're sure that's what it means?"

" _Hera_." Donna pulled her knees up to her legs and stared at Dick. "Okay, let's use your Wonder Woman-Black Canary analogy again. Let's say in that same scenario, Diana knew I had the hots for Black Canary. Knowing this, she said to me, 'Donna, you'll be 18 soon. You're far too old for me to demand that you stop spending time with someone you care about.'  That would obviously be her way of saying, 'hey, I know what you see in her, Donna. Go for it.'"

Dick sighed. "It'd be easier if he'd just come out and say it."

"Maybe," Donna agreed. "It'd also be pretty creepy. Like he was handing you off to his ex."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

Donna smirked. "This way's not as creepy. It's just him saying 'hey, _when_ it happens, I'm cool with it.'"

Dick remembered Bruce's words about Clark and Dick's "relationship" in the Fortress - _Not yet_ Bruce had said. It made him think there was a lot of truth in what Donna was saying. "Thanks, Donna," Dick said softly.

"Any time," Donna said brightly. "Just you remember, if the Big Blue ever does break your heart, you tell me, and I’ll send Diana after him."

Dick laughed. "Think she can take him?"

"Oh, you know in a fight, Wonder Woman could kick Superman’s ass," Donna said cheerfully.

"It is hard to beat a Wonder in battle," Dick conceded.

As if deciding that he needed a reminder of exactly how true that was, Donna promptly pounced him again and resumed her tickling.

Dick’s laughter came far more freely the second time around.  



	19. Enjoy the Best Anticipations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks after Dick's 18 birthday, Clark takes him to the Fortress. It does not go the way either of them expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hoe while it is spring, and enjoy the best anticipations. It is not much matter if things do not turn out well." ~Charles Dudley Warner

As Dick stepped out of the university's registrar building after completing his first campus tour, the same cool breeze from the bay that gave relief during the blistering Gotham summers whipped through Dick’s light t-shirt with a brisk reminder that the early days of spring merely meant a brief pause in the icy cold of winter, and that he should surely not get used to it. Dick shuddered and pulled his jacket closed, certain that the town where his mother had given birth had been the sight of a much more welcoming temperature of spring - otherwise she never would have bestowed the nickname she had given him.

As he walked down the marble steps, carefully avoiding the slush of the last week’s rainfall (boy, those steps would be fun with an addition of snow for his fellow students that weren't acrobats) Dick’s eyes came to rest on a figure that lent an extra degree of warmth to the chilly spring day. 

To most people, the slightly hunched over form wasn’t anything special. With the parted hair, glasses, and ill-fitting suit, he could have easily passed for one of many professors Dick had seen on campus. The subject would be something a little dull, English or history, perhaps, where he could fade away into his corner office and only come out when he was absolutely forced to deal with those pesky administrative tasks he despised. 

But Dick knew the truth, and the tingle that Superman’s presence continually left on his body left no doubt of the stranger's identity. 

"What brings you to Gotham?" Dick asked, once he was close enough that the question seemed more personable, and less like the joyful shout it truly was.

"You," Clark replied easily, and Dick tried to convince himself that it was simply the last conversation he’d had with Donna that made him imagine the extra tenderness in Clark’s voice. 

It was easy to hear things that weren’t said when you didn’t have super-hearing.

"Really?" Dick asked, in what he hoped was a casual manner. 

"I did miss a birthday," Clark pointed out. 

"I heard you were … away," Dick answered easily. Specifically, away in space. "I’m sure Hal and Diana needed you more than my cake and I did." 

"I’m sure I would have preferred Alfred's cake to the engagements that kept me away," Clark responded with a grin that came dangerously close to giving his secret identity away. 

"Cake probably would have tasted better if you’d been around, too," Dick admitted softly. 

A careless student walking past them accidentally bumped into Clark, and Dick had time to scowl at the offender for interrupting the desired privacy of the moment before Clark straightened his posture, pushed his glasses back up his nose, and asked, "Care to come with me to get your present?" 

"I’d love to." 

Really, it was a matter of altruism. If they kept standing there in the middle of the campus, someone might recognize that the sloppy clothing covered a better body than any stuffy English professor could ever hope for. 

Naturally, Dick accepted the invitation. 

\-------------------

The flight was longer than Dick had remembered it being. It was entirely possible that the perceived extra distance was entirely a figment of Dick’s imagination, brought on by the anticipation that Dick felt with each bold wiggle closer he took. 

Clark didn’t comment on the wiggle. Nor did the wiggles go completely ignored. To Dick’s utter delight, and mild surprise, each wriggle resulted in Clark pulling him closer. 

Against the warmth of Clark’s body, Dick barely noticed the increasing coolness of the Arctic air as they neared the Fortress.

At least, not until Clark set him on the ground and they entered the Fortress together, and by then, Dick was preoccupied with marveling at the splendor of the Fortress, as any sane, rational person would have done.

"You know, no matter how many times I come here, I’m always blown away," Dick admitted. "To know this is only a fraction of what your home world must have been like…"

"It doesn't have unpleasant memories?" Clark asked. "I’d worried that it would, considering what happened the last time you were here."

"Lex Luthor, kryptonite, and the great kidnapping caper?" Dick asked. He’d never admit to any nightmares that still plagued him about that incident. Not to Bruce, and certainly not to Clark.

It had been several months ago, and Dick should be well over it by now. 

"Well, that’s one way to describe it," Clark admitted with what had to be the first nervous chuckle that Dick had ever heard come out of Superman before. His voice took on a more serious tone when he added, "When Luthor was stabbing me, all I could think of was that I wouldn't be able to save you." 

"Bruce saved us both," Dick reassured him. He didn’t bother to mention that the only thing he’d been able to focus on while Clark was being stabbed was that it had been his fault for getting captured in the first place. 

"Thank God," Clark muttered. "If he hadn’t…No one should have to die with the knowledge that his first love has harmed a new one." 

"Wait - first love?" Dick ignored the biologically impossible flip flop his heart did in his chest as his brain processed the last part of Clark’s sentence. 

Clark bowed his head and looked genuinely ashamed - which was not a look that went well on that particular face. "Lex Luthor. My first and greatest mistake. To be fair…he was a different person in Smallville than the man you know today."

"Well, I would hope you weren’t trying to date him while he was trying to kill you," Dick answered. "Wow - Lex Luthor and Batman. You sure know how to pick difficult … partners." 

"I like a challenge?" Clark offered. 

"Hmm. This new love of yours must be an awfully dull let down, then," Dick remarked. Which was a nice way of prodding to make sure that Dick understood Clark’s meaning before potentially making a fool of himself.

"On the contrary, he has tested my sense of propriety, honor, and integrity far more than anyone else," Clark admitted.

There was that bashful look again. It could give a person an incredible sense of power, to be able to know that they were responsible for making the silly mannerisms of Clark Kent, bumbling reporter, actual Superman qualities, however briefly.

All acrobats, his mother had told him once, were adrenaline junkies, and Mary Grayson’s son had no reason to prove her wrong as he stepped closer to Clark. 

"Really? Sounds awfully dirty," Dick murmured, putting just the right emphasis on dirty to emphasize the point that he really wasn’t a virgin anymore, and if Clark wanted him so much, they should really get on with it. 

"Oh, no. It’s actually quite innocent," Clark assured him. "We haven’t stepped over any boundaries past friendship."

Yet. Clark was taking to biting his bottom lip, and thus, the headiness of power ran through Dick‘s veins as he asked, "Why not?"

"Dick…maybe I should get you your birthday present now," Clark said, clearing his throat a little. Dick would have backed off, but both his parents and Bruce had taught him to be a careful observer of body language, for entirely different reasons. 

Protest or not, Clark hadn’t moved.

"I’m working on getting my birthday present, actually," Dick responded, laying his hand on Clark’s arm. 

Clark blinked at him, glanced down at the arm and then back at him. "I was thinking more along the lines of a book."

"You brought me all the way to the Fortress for a book?" 

"Nightwing and Flamebird, the abridged biography, translated in English." 

"Mmm. Later," Dick suggested, giving the arm a slight squeeze. "I already received a lot of books for my birthday." Another bondage book from Roy, a book about bisexuality from Babs, a book about father and son relationships from Alfred, a book about the key points of leadership from Bruce… 

"You’re probably tired of reading then." Clark nodded understandably, but to Dick’s amusement, he still seemed distracted by Dick’s hand being on his arm.

All those years of frustration, and all Dick ever had to do was place his hand on Clark’s arm to completely disarm Clark? What Dick would give to be able to time travel back and tell his younger self that. 

"Well….I wouldn’t say I’m tired, yet. But what I have in mind does call for a bed," Dick replied. His boldest comment yet. Then again, according to the book Bruce had given him, in any situation there had to be a leader, and Clark was currently way too confused for that role. 

"Are you…are you sure?" Clark frowned slightly. "We’re moving a little fast, don’t you think?"

"What I think is the last time I was in this Fortress, you almost died. And if you had, you would have died without me being able to show how I care for you. With our jobs, I think we both know that could happen again at any moment, and potentially without the same positive outcome" Dick responded gently. "So, yes, I’m sure. But you don’t seem to be…even though I’m pretty sure you do have feelings for me…?" 

"Should be rather obvious by now." Clark tossed him a rueful smile. "I’m afraid even Lex figured out my attraction to you - a good few months before I should have had it."

"Good. We’ve established that I want you, and you want me," Dick pointed out saucily. "Which brings us back to my original question…why are you hesitant to do anything about it? Inaction isn’t much Superman’s style. And I've been legal for two whole weeks."

"My track record with relationships isn’t a very good one," Clark admitted, with a slight shake of his head. "And my father always had a saying: ‘even the best seeds cannot grow when planted in bitter soil.’ You deserve much more than that, Dick."

Dick knew, of course, what Clark was trying to say. It was a warning of everything that could go wrong with them - a warning that the two of them could crash and burn as much as Clark's other relationships.

Or Dick's other relationships, for that matter, though of course Clark would never mention that. Primarily because not only was Clark a nice guy, but the "relationships" in Dick's case should truly be singular. Unrequited lovers didn't really count, under any intelligent person's conception of the term.

Normally, Dick would be inclined to agree with Clark. All things considered, between Luthor and Liu and Bruce and Lois, the two of them had a tremendously horrible track record.

But there was something different about today, standing in the Fortress with Clark. Maybe it was that left over "umph" that his eighteenth birthday had long since promised, but never delivered. It might have been the feeling of standing in the last bit of Clark's home. Donna's conversation, or the sheer fact that it had been a thousand days of frustration building up since he had stood in the Kent barn could also have been the reason.

Or perhaps it was the tiny fact that it was Dick who was making the world's greatest superhero tilt his head and look so unsure of himself. 

Whatever the catalyst, today Dick was feeling a lot more sure of himself than he had in the past, and his response reflected that newfound certainty. "My father had a saying too," Dick answered. "His was 'if you never leap, you can never fly.'" 

Clark reached forward and cupped Dick's face, and Dick's certainty only grew as he leaned into the touch. "Appropriate saying for an acrobat," Clark murmured.

"I have been many things since, but I will always be an acrobat," Dick responded. 

Clark's head bowed closer to Dick's, and Dick was acutely aware that Clark was close enough to kiss. With only a fraction of hesitation, Dick closed the gap between them.

Clark's hand circled Dick's waist, and together, they leapt toward whatever future awaited them.


	20. Epilogue One: The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's reactions to Dick not coming home the night he spends with Clark.

In some ways, Dick was still very, very young. Despite everything he had been through, and the villains he fought every night, there was a part of Dick that was still fragile, breakable, and trusting in all the ways that only a child could be.

Bruce worried about that part of Dick every time they went out on patrol, and worried more when Dick went out without him. He worried that someone else would discover just how breakable Dick was. It was a very exploitable weakness, and one that Dick wore on his sleeves as well as all his other emotions.

Bruce did not truly fear that Clark would ever take advantage of that weakness. Not…intentionally. Clark wasn’t the one who broke people. 

That honor, Bruce knew, was reserved for Batman.

Still, on the night that Dick didn’t come home from registration with the university and instead sent a hasty message from the Fortress explaining that he’d be home the next morning, Bruce worried nonetheless.

Clark and Dick both loved completely, with no restrictions, boundaries, or common sense to hold them back. Bruce worried that Dick was too young to find someone who would return the sentiment as deeply as Dick was willing to give.

He worried about it all night, in fact.

But when morning came, and a sleepy Dick greeted him at the breakfast table, Bruce didn’t voice his concerns. The happiness that shown in Dick’s eyes was too precious to be placed in jeopardy.

Bruce chose instead to be glad that Dick still wanted to come home, when there were so many other reasons to keep him away.


	21. Epilogue Two: The Judas Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the events of The Judas Contract, Dick goes home to his tattered apartment, and is relieved to see Clark waiting on him.

Dick is not as surprised as he should be, perhaps, when he gets home following the Titan rescue to see his favorite reporter sitting among the ruined remains of the apartment that Deathstroke had so thoroughly attacked not long before.

The half-worried, half-relieved look Clark gives him makes half of Dick’s muscles hurt worse, and the other half feel better. Because on one hand, it didn’t take a whole lot to make Superman worry. His whole job was pretty much to worry about everyone else. But on the other hand, the number of people who could have made Superman look relieved just by walking through the door was small. 

Or through the window, as the case might be.

Dick isn't sure that would have made sense to anyone but himself, so he doesn't say anything out loud. But as was usually the case, he doesn't have to say anything verbally to get Clark to react. Clark crosses the room, paying very little attention to any of the mess that litters the floor, and swoops Dick into his arms.

It seems very important, suddenly, that Clark had left his apartment the way that he’d found it. Alfred would have cleaned it, and Bruce would have … made some sort of comment. 

Clark hasn't done either, and doesn't make any effort to as he carries Dick back to the bedroom. 

"Thanks," Dick murmurs into Clark’s chest. Sometimes, such as now, Dick wonders how that chest can be so impossibly, inhumanly large. It’s too large for Dick to fully get his arms around, even if he tried. It's far too strong of a chest for someone who doesn’t have a fraction of Superman’s strength.

"For what?" Clark asks as he gently lowers Dick onto the bed and begins to remove his clothing. 

His very wrinkled, very tattered, very torn Nightwing costume, which had been nearly destroyed in the battle. Dick can’t help but wonder if it’s a sign of the career that is ahead of him, if that nearly shredded costume is a warning of the bad times to come. Maybe he really isn’t anything without Bruce - or Clark - watching his back. 

"Not picking up after me," Dick tells him, with a lazy hand wave to the rest of the room.

The glare of the light through Clark's glasses is too much for Dick’s head, as it makes the pounding worse. So he reaches up and pulls the artificial items off. The wide blue eyes that look at him look more true, somehow, this way. Dick supposes that is a silly thing to thing, but it's a belief he clings to. 

Dick folds the glasses and puts them on the bed while Clark pulls the remaining threads off what had once been the top of Dick’s costume. "How did the mission go?"

Dick sighs and reaches up to remove his own mask. "Pretty damn awful." 

"Oh?" Dick takes too long to blink, and when he’s finished, he’s snuggled into a fresh pair of boxers under the covers, with an always warm Clark beside him.

Dick breathes in the scent of farm visits and misunderstandings from long ago as he settles into the warmth of that impossibly wide chest. "I was five minutes away from losing everyone on my team," he tells Clark. "The Terminator had them all rounded up…if I had been five minutes late, they would be dead. As it was…I would have failed if I hadn’t had Jericho there with me."

"You’re feeling guilty?" Clark surmises. 

"How can I not?" Dick demands. "What kind of a leader am I? They deserve…a lot better leader than I can ever be."

Clark’s kiss is neither chaste nor the impatient lust-filled kisses that usually pepper their nights together. Dick welcomes it, but is too worn to do much else.

"I promised you, when we agreed to this, that I would let you live your own life," Clark reminds him. "And that I wouldn’t interfere with the Titans." 

"I know," Dick replies. "I’m not blaming you."

"I didn’t think you were." Clark’s smile is brighter than the glare on the glasses had been, but far more reassuring. "But I want you to know how hard it was to concentrate solely on your heart beat, and nothing else while you were on your mission." 

"I didn’t have time to check in," Dick tells him. 

"I know. But I worried nonetheless." Clark pauses and runs his finger lightly over a small bruise atop Dick’s shoulder that Dick doesn’t even remember getting. The light movement stands in marked contrast to the strength of the arm pressed against Dick’s back. "You have no idea how much effort it took not to fly off to make sure you were okay."

Dick forces himself not to tell Clark that he would have preferred if he had. Because it’s not really true, and only the weight of his own guilt makes him think otherwise.

"But I didn’t. Because I trust you." Clark kisses him again, more forcefully this time, and adds, "And if your new team is going to work, you’ll have to have the same faith in them to take care of themselves as I do in you."

"And if their trust in me winds up costing them their lives?" Dick asks softly.

"You’re the best leader they could ever have. But it’s a chance you take," Clark tells him, offering him honesty instead of the platitudes Robin would have received. "It’s a chance we all take."

Dick curls more tightly against the warmth Clark’s body offers. The thing about being with Superman was that telling your failures to him is not quite like telling your failures to anyone else. There are many people that Dick could have confided in, but…

Bruce expects more of him.

Barbara expects less of him.

The Titans expect the best of him. 

Clark just expects him to be Dick and if that's a failure...who doesn't fail in front of Superman? Within the warmth of Clark’s embrace, Dick’s failure doesn't disappear, but Clark’s sheer inability to see it at all does make it loom a little less large in the distance.


End file.
